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FEBRUARY 1947 numbers 

More Doctors 
SMOKE Camels 

t/ian any other cigarette 

Doiliiis loo smoke for pleasure. 
And when three iiulepeiulenl 
researcli organizations asked 
113,597 doctors— What cigarette 
do yon smoke. Doctor? — //le 
brand named most uitx Camel! 

ts party tune again 

/\na on I like the look or a jrcaL svvirling skirt— Inc partv night 
splendor ol hrillianl ss\'aths or imcxpeclea eolor comoinea. Sophistication 
CLim laiiae worked up in lightheai'ted raille. 

Left: Black mid Aqua. Homy Btigf anil Cliar/n use. W/ii/i 'iiiil Royal. 55.00 

Right: Blue and Atuerican Beauty, Chartreuse and Poudir Blue, Ashes of Roses and Aqua, 
White aud .-inieriean Beauty, Wliite and Royal. 35.00 


hvenins Shop * lourtli floe 


Photo by I'aul Mallor 

'' S Vjrlll jrUTl . . . Chatting at Scott, Martha Ashby, Kappa, and Peggy Donnely, DG, choose two casual outfits 
from Bramson's college shop. 

Peggy wears a suit of beige flannel — her Norfolk jacket and slim fly-front skirt are perfect for spring. A gay silk scarf adds 
color. Suit, kelly, beige, cocoa — S35. 

Martha selects a short boxy jacket Peter Pan collar, and a straight matching black skirt. Under the jacket a Peggy Parker 
favorite — a white sweater with vivid stripes of red, yellow and black. Jacket $22.95; skirt (Black only) $10.95; Sweater 



^^ p A i?/c 

^^ BEACH • 




















W.C.T.U 24 







arty to the practical, we tip our hats 
this month to Janet Christie and Joyce 
Ronningen, from left to right, business 
manager and advertising manager of 
this slick, One a Norska, the other a 
Svenska flicka, the small and large 
blonds are paragons of the successful 
coed leading the rich full life in our 
brave new world. 

Little (5' 21/2"), feather-cut Janet is 
a smiling, good-natured thing who feels 
strongly on no subject. Alarmingly 
normal, she appears to do and like 
almost everything within decent limits. 
A senior, majoring in phys ed, her one 
obsession is that people should be 
healthier. Who's going to argue with 
that? Some of the honors piled up 
around our easy-going miss are Mortar 
Board, Shi-Ai, SGB and WSGA mem- 
berships and, naturally enough, she's a 
Greek, Chi O. Happy Janet wants to 
teach in a college and then get married. 
But of course. 

Joyce Ronningen (Speech '48) is an 
AOPi from WCTUTown who wants to 
be a big exec in selling some day. Half 
Swedish, half Norwegian, she's overtly 
as cold emotionally as the bleak fjord 
land. Possibly the most non-committal 
person around, she admits to such 
harmless activities as membership in 
the Junior Council and Shi-Ai. Joyce, 
an imposing structure (5' 7"), has only 
vague likes and dislikes and wouldn't 
think of taking them out of hiding in 
front of all you people. She did confess 
to being sensitive. It's a charming part 
of her, but she's bothered by it and 
w^ould like to see a psycho-analyst. 
They're fashionable now. 

COVER: St. Valentine's Day always makes 
us feel like going out for a good stiff drink 
of cyanide: but we don't, we don't ... we 
get sentimental like everyone else and run 
pictures like this month's excellent cover 
shot by Photographer Carlyle I Pinky I Free- 
born. Pinky, accompanied by side-kick Paul 
Mallory, took our dust-wrapper feature while 
hanging out of a sorority house bedroom. 

PURPLE PARROT, published during the months of October, December, February, March, April, May by the Student Publishing Company Inc Scott 
Hall, Northwestern University, Evanston, Illinois. Subscriptions: $1.25 per year. VOL. XXVi, No. 3, February, 1947. Application for ent'ry as 'matter 
of the second class, pending at postoffice at Evanston, Illinois. The entire content of the PURPLE PARROT, text and illustrations are protected by copv- 


Relaxing in the distinctive atmosphere of the 
Camellia House, Muff Stewart, DC, and Jim 
Kroeger, Delt, watch inimitable Mike Evanoff, the 
mad Russian, enjoying his work. Listening to 
Robert McCrew's orchestra climaxes a perfect evening 
for Zee Herman, Kappa, and Jim Vynaiek, Delt. 
Make yours a wonderful evening, too, at the 
Camellia House where there's no minimum, no 
cover charge. 

^' f" # u 

in the Drake Hotel 



C,P^ ^x^^^ 



THE TOP . . . 

in Hollywood 
as well as 
in Chicago 

it's ^ 

Patricia Stevens . , . 


30 W. Washington 

State 1781 

Photo hy Twl l-'ii-(Utniin 

Enjoying an evening at the Silhouette are Jack Stolle, 
Alpha Delt: Joan Crissey, Alpha Chi; Joyce Clohesey, 
AOPi; and John Wold, Alpha Delt. 


It's the Silhouette ..." 

• For dancing to delightful music 

For continuous entertainment 

Fur atmosphere that's different 

For Jam Sessions 

From 4 PM to 
9 PM Sundays 

Club Silhouette 

1555 W. Howard 




by A R i A N E 

A suit of superb beauty and 
incredibly flattering fit . . . for 
you who are 5'5" or under, and 
proud of your penchant for 
perfection. New Spring shades 
in Pacific's Verdona. 




620-22 Church St. 




"Ifs Smart to Wear 
FUturrs in ) our Hair 

This dainty spray 'OJ orchids outlines 
the popular page boy coiffure. 


.-/ Itair I iirsain ui <iir nations entiiined 

uith iM ;•> suitable eithtr tor ulternoon 

or ei enins uear 

tri orihid hraitltt to match an orchid 

nurii III till- hair K-. a sui/hi^ticated 


For the Most Unusual in 
Corsages and Floral 


on J 

Norman Ross 


Smooth records, a wonderful 
record changer and you're all set 
for sn evening of fun. 

Jeanne Nadherny, Alpha Cam 
and Chuck Krippes, DU seem to 
be quite engrossed in Vaughn 
Monroe's latest album. 

Norman Ross&Co. 

617 Davis Uni 9400 


'the best in music" 

Radios Sheet Music 






Photo by Paul Mallors 


Whether you want wonderful music, wine, or just a plain ordinary Cood Time . . . come on out 
Left to right are Don Hunter, Beta, Janet Christie, Chi 0, Walt Kemp, Beta, and Lonny Hill, Chi 0. 

Oasis Little Club 

...4400 Simpson... Skokie J65S 

No One We Know 

Irs. Wilsome always stopped 
clearing the breakfast dishes the mo- 
ment the morning paper arrived. Each 
morning, the thud of the folded South- 
ville Sun against the front step was Mrs. 
Wilsome's cue for pulling out the elec- 
tric toaster cord and running to the 
door. Unfolding the tightly rolled pa- 
per, Mrs. Wilsome glanced at the head- 
lines. If something interested her, she 
would read it aloud to her husband. In 
either case, her husband would always 
smile wanly and feign concern. 

This morning the Southville Sun did 
not interest Mrs. Wilsome so she read 
aloud, prefacing each story with a com- 
mand for attention. 

"George, listen to this. The Society 
for the Advancement of Commerce will 
hold its annual meeting today in the 
Knotty Pine room of the Hotel Webster. 
This first meeting since the end of hos- 
tilities in the Pacific will be devoted to 
the election of officers. Officers for the 
past year have been . . ." 

Mrs. Wilsome had a definite aversion 
to reading lists of names from the pa- 
per. It was a degree of familiarity with 
the community which she did not per- 
mit herself — or her husband. If she 
came to a list of names in her course of 
reading, she stopped abruptly and be- 
gan a new story. 

This always amused her husband who 
asked half in interest, half in mockery. 

"Anyone we know?" 

"No, no one we know," Mrs. Wilsome 
answered abstractedly. "George, listen 
to this. James T. Beck, author of the 
best seller 'Brood of Folly,' will arrive 
in Southville from Westshire, today, to 
deliver a lecture on the influence of 
John Milton on modern writers, at the 
Community House, tonight. A round 
table discussion will follow. Participants 
will be . . ." 

"Anyone we know?" asked her hus- 

"No. no one we know," Mrs. Wilsome 
answered abstractedly. "George, listen 
to this." 

Her husband never could tell if his 
wife were interested in the paper until 
she reached the third story. If she were 
interested, she would skip from story 
to story as if she were reading con- 
tinued installments of an absorbing 
love story. If she were not interested, 
she would frown at the breakfast dishes 
and try to read them away. This morn- 
ing, she frowned at the seeds in the 
bottom of her orange juice glass and 
resumed her reading. 

"Miss Jacqueline Peabody, daughter 
of Mr. and Mrs. J. Huntley Peabody 
of Westshire, Connecticut, will be intro- 
duced by her sister, at a ball in her 
honors tonight, at the South View 
Country Club. Those attending are . . ." 

"Anyone we know?" asked her hus- 

"No, no one we know," Mrs. Wilsome 
answered abstractedly. 

Mrs. Wilsome read two more stories 
which didn't interest her and then 
began to fold the paper. 

"Is that all the news for today?" her 
husband asked, as he raised his hand 
to his mouth just in time to catch the 
end of last night's yawn. 

Mrs. Wilsome unfolded the paper. 

"It's nothing, really," she said. "Just 
a little accident." 

She frowned once more, this time at 
the crusts of toast her husband had left. 

"Three people were killed and ten 
others injured when a Trans-city Bus 
overturned late last night ten miles 
from the city. A defective tire was 
blamed, according to a Coveral Insur- 
ance Company representative. Those 
killed in the crash were . . ." 

James T. Beck, author of "Brood of 
Folly" and champion of the Miltonic 
influence of modern American litera- 
ture, bought a round-trip bus ticket 
for Southville. As he boarded the bus, 
he noticed rather undramatically that 
no one was reading "Brood of Folly." 
No one was carrying "Brood of Folly'' 
under his arm, no one had a package 
that looked like it might contain a gift- 
wrapped copy of "Brood of Folly." 
Dismissing this with visions of post- 
humous fame. Mr. Beck began reading 
a rather thought-worn edition of Mil- 





ton's "Lycidas." In this poem, which 
he considered the greatest in the Eng- 
lish language, Mr. Beck saw mirrored 
his own future. 

As the bus moved toward Southville. 
Mr. Beck amused himself by drawing 
not too obvious parallels between the 
creator of "Paradise Lost" and the me- 
chanic of "Brood of Folly." The only 
real relationship between Milton and 
Beck was that Beck had chosen a 
phi-ase from Milton's "II Penseroso," as 
the title for his book. 

Milton had not started on his best 
work until he was fifty years old. Mr. 
Beck was thirty-three, but he did not 
intend to write another book until he 
was fifty. Milton wrote the two works 
of Paradise while completely blind. Mr. 
Beck was decidedly nearsighted and 
might well be blind by the time he was 
forty-four. Milton had had three wives, 
the last of whom had survived him by 
fifty years. Mr. Beck, at the age of 
thirty-thi'ee, was unmarried, but his 
publisher had a daughter, who was in 
ill health, and who might marry him. 
That would be a good start. Milton 
was afraid that "the blind fury with 
the abhorred shears" might slit his 
thin-spun life before the berries, which 
he plucked in "Lycidas," had time to 
ripen. Mr. Beck was afraid of death, 

Yes, the parallels between the two 
authors' lives were certainly startling, 
thought Mr. Beck. 

Mr. Beck, in situations concerning 
Mr. Beck, was completely congenial. It 
wasn't long before this congeniality was 
thrust upon his neighbor, who had 
made the mistake of glancing at the 
worn copy of "Samson Agonistes" in 
the author's hand. 

"It certainly is unusual to find a per- 
son interested in John Milton," Mr. 
Beck observed. "Perhaps you have read 
James T. Beck's 'The Brood of Folly'?" 
he added hurriedly. 

His neighbor, caught, pretended to be 
looking at the aspirin ads directly above 
him. James T. Beck, completely unin- 
terested in aspirin ads, launched a dra- 
matic monologue designed to inspire. 

His neighbor yawned. 

The subject of the monologue was 
"The Blind Poet, John Milton and His 
Effect on James T. Beck." The not too 
obvious parallels, with which Mr. Beck 
had amused himself silently, had found 

Illustrated by Art Sallander 

oral expression. 

His neighbor was not amused. 

John Milton had retired to Horton 
to become the most learned man in 
England. James T. Beck, while ad- 
mittedly not the most learned man in 
America, had made an intensive study 
of the cosmos and its relation to litera- 
ture. Milton spent so much time study- 
ing that he had little time to devote 
to his family. Mr. Beck hadn't written 
a letter home in two and one-half years. 

His neighbor yawned. 

James T. Beck, author of "Brood of 
Folly," recalled that Milton's work was 
"simple, sensuous, and passionate." He 
was trying to reconcile this with his 
work, which was cryptic, sterile, and 
impotent," when the bus tire exploded. 
As the bus overturned over on the 
embankment, Mr. Beck recalled the 
most vivid parallel between John Mil- 
ton and James T. Beck. 

James T. Beck was afraid of death. 


4v -K- * 

Miss Jacqueline Peabody, ample in 
body and pinched in mind, bought a 
round-trip bus ticket for Southville. 
The family chauffeur had eloped with 
the family cook in the family car. For- 
tunately, both the Westshire and South- 
ville newspapers announcing Miss Pea- 
body's debut had overlooked the ac- 
companying scandal. The excitement 
of "coming out" had been dulled slight- 
ly by the commonness of the bus ride. 

Miss Peabody found a seat in the 
back of the bus. On the seat beside 
her, she placed the two books which 
she had brought along to read, in case 
there was nothing else to do. In several 
hours. Miss Peabody would arrive in 
Southville. In several more hours, she 

.by Charles Greetiblatt 

would be di'essed formally for her 

Miss Jacqueline Peabody, schooled 
meticulously in the social graces, was 
eighteen. Those eighteen years had 
been filled with flattery, which always 
included a subtle testing of her father's 
purse strings. Apparently the purse 
strings had not proved sufficiently flex- 
ible, for Miss Peabody remained unat- 
tached at eighteen. The debut, she felt 
confident, would take care of that. 

As she inspected her left hand, she 
gazed longingly at the barren spot on 
her fourth finger. Her mind filled the 
barrenness, and she forgot the inspec- 

Miss Peabody smiled graciously at 
the popping flash bulbs. 'When she 
looked at the polished ballroom floor, 
she saw her smiling face peering out 
from behind the folds of silk. When she 
looked into her goblet of champagne, 
she saw her smiling face bubbling up 
at her. When she danced, she saw her- 
self in the smiling faces of those who 
watched her. When she coyly extended 
her left hand, the whole stag line 
reached for it in unison. They all 
reached into their pockets together, 
withdrawing jewelled boxes. Will you 
wear my ring? they all seemed to say. 
Miss Peabody smiled graciously. As 
she looked at the series of rings on her 
fourth finger, they seemed to disappear 
one by one. The faces were no longer 
smiling. The flash bulbs no longer 

Miss Peabody was back in the bus, 
inspecting her left hand. The left thumb 
was perfect. The forefinger and the 
middle finger were as they should be. 

[Continued on page 10) 

P a s: e 9 

The cuticle of the fourth finger was 
pushed back carefully, exposing a per- 
fectly rounded half-moon. The arch 
was not quite symmetrical. There was 
something crooked about the nail of 
the fourth finger. Her left hand was not 
ready for the debut. 

She was looking in her purse for an 
emery board to file that imperfect nail 
when the bus tire exploded. As the 
bus turned over on the embankment, 
she looked once again at her crooked 

Her purse was nowhere to be found. 

William Casey bought a one-way bus 
ticket for Southville. William Casey 
rarely bought bus tickets. In fact, he 
rarely bought anything. He was a fail- 
ure, if success is measured by money 
in the pocket or a well-filled stomach. 
William Casey had neither. 

He had no hopes for the future, no 
regrets of the past. He lived in the 
living present. If he thought at all, he 
did not recognize it as thought. Life 
was merely a series of sensations to 
him. A bus ride to Southville was just 
another sensation to William Casey. He 
had no reason for going to Southville; 
he had no reason for leaving Westshire. 
He was just going. He might come 
back, and then again, he might not. 

Those who insist in moralizing about 
William Casey would call him a failure. 
Those who must glamourize destitution 
would tearfully call him the forgotten 
man. Those who consider the economic 
consequence would categorize him as a 
burden upon society. William Casey 
was not a failure. A man who has never 
thought, cannot suddenly think himself 
a failure. William Casey was not a for- 
gotten man. He had a name. He was 
not a burden upon society. If he did 
not eat, he di'ew his own belt tighter-. 

William Casey followed the bus with 
his eyes. If the bus rolled past fields 
of grain, he saw fields of grain. If it 
passed a river, he saw a river. If the 
bus stopped at a railway crossing, he 
stopped with it. There wasn't a thing 
that the bus did that William Casey 
did not do. 

William Casey saw only what there 
was to see. There were no hidden 
meanings for him. If someone looked 
scornfully at him, he saw someone 
looking scornful. He wouldn't bother 
to see if his tie were awry or if there 
were lint on his coat. If someone smiled 
at him, he saw someone smiling. He 
felt neither compassion nor sympathy. 
(ContimLed on page 30) 

In QliicaxjX)' 



a jazz promoter combining sound in- 
telligence and a realistic approach to 
the cultural enigma called jazz. And 
fortunately for Chicago, the man who 
by all odds can be declared one of the 
most capable has been around the city 
for a number of years. Quietly, by 
comparison, he's been developing a 
superb aesthetic feeling for the coun- 
try's most important musical contribu- 
tion to mankind, providing, at the same 
time, an objective appraisal of it for 
the layman. 

Paul Eduard Miller — author, essayist, 
producer, and critic of the fine arts — is 
the cool spring morning to the precari- 
ous existence that American jazz music 
leads. His prolific activities that center 
in the Chicago area are designed to 
bring order out of chaos. In a compact 
north side studio apartment near Lin- 
coln Park, the youngish bachelor has 
since 1935 written a half million words 
on hot music. His essays, ranging in 

I publication fields from trade journals 
through Esquire magazine, plus five 

I books on the subject, have achieved 
for him an enviable international fol- 
lowing that few critics obtain. In fact, 
a half dozen Chicago acquaintances 
have such thorough-going confidence 
in Miller's critical opinions that they're 
building hot record collections based 
solely on the man's discriminate selec- 

Miller, however, is not the brand of 
dogmatic jazz connoisseur- that is popu- 
larly known to expound "schools" of 
the culture. Miller's entire cultivation 
of a fine art barely twenty-five years 
old and accumulation of material per- 
taining to it has been concentrated 
along historical as well as aesthetic 
lines. While the Beards may be among 
the American political history special- 
ists, Paul Eduard Miller exemplifies 
top talent in American jazz study. 

Although his daily toil is concerned 
primarily with revision of his "Year- 
book of Jazz," Miller's eventual goal 
is the development of high quality 

music locally, which, according to Mil- 
ler, is a difficult accomphshment. Con- 
vinced as he is that the process is a 
long, thorny one. Miller is making a 
significant attempt to build an audience 
of older people — with the consequential 
elimination of bobby-soxers — through a 
series of small Kimball showcasings. 
When and if this more mature group 
gives him a vote of confidence by fiUing 
the hall, he will have partially suc- 
ceeded; and the support will serve as 
a basis for larger concerts. His early 
December musicale at Kimball, which 
featured Sidney Bechet and Mezz Mezz- 
row of hot music's Golden Era. was in 
part designed as a further test of public 
support here. Meantime, his plans for 
the next few months include further 
presentations at prices sufficient only 
to cover expenses. The big Miller- 
sponsored "Operations Jazz" concert 
last fall at the loop Opera House was, 
from the gate-receipts standpoint, only 
a mild triumph, with financial backing 
coming from the Green Recording 
company. Indications are that he'll not 
attempt another of that magnitude for 
several months. 

However pretentious the numerous 
hot music concerts that have greeted 
Chicagoans recently may seem, the sud- 
den influx actually is proving a liability 
to the local cause. Miller believes. 

"With so many in one season, you 
can't know precisely which ones are 
best," he says. "Your newspaper critics 
don't know jazz — I hope they don't 
profess to — and the reviews are bad. 
This results in a public not intelligently 
informed in what concerts rate atten- 
tion — they get a distorted view of jazz. 
People say 'nuts' and won't support it. 

"But this isn't to deny the efforts of 
Down Beat magazine and Will David- 
son, the Tribune's music critic. Both 
have been very good to me and very 
good for jazz." 

An additional skirmish in the Miller 
battle to protect hot music prestige is 
with organizations like the Hot Club 
of Chicago. His own concert plans are 
a rigorous reversal of usual hot club 




Prime promoter of music of the gutbucket school in 
Chicago is Paul Eduard Miller, of refined tastes and 
dogmatic opinions. "Down Beat" staff writer Bill Bennett 
writes of Miller's struggles. 

session characteristics: a subsidized 
night club atmosphere, with kids and 
low prices. "Bad for publicity" is the 
way he ternis them. 

Jazz in Chicago is essentially non- 
existant. That much Miller is reason- 
ably sure of. and he's certain that the 
local public doesn't know the ability of 
the accepted "greats" in the field. 
"There have rarely been true jazzmen 
in Chicago for any length of time dur- 
ing the last several years," he says. 
"Just for example, Sidney Bechet was 
making his Chicago debut at Operations 
Jazz. It was tantamount to his first 
public appearance here in twenty 

Dizzy Gillespie, the be-bob exponent 
who also graced the Opera House, has 
seldom appeared here at spots accessible 
to the layman. Along with Bechet and 
Bene Cedric, Gillespie flew from New 
York for the affair as a personal favor 
to Miller. Any of the other methods 
generally used in obtaining good artists 
probably would have resulted in failure. 

Miller has few tenacious doctrines, 
but he believes that the public is buy- 
ing sweet, commercial music because it 
doesn't have convenient access to the 
"good." In addition, he maintains that 

JAZZ GREATS, from left. Lou- 
is Armstrong, trumpet; Roy 
Eldridge, trumpet; Coleman 
Hawkins, tenor sax, and uni- 
dentified clarinetist, snapped 
at recent Chicago jam session. 

jazz, as in all the arts, holds only a 
superficial interest for people. 

"The classics have prestige value. 
Jazz hasn't, so far. But nobody is horn 
with musical appreciation — you have to 
acquire a taste for jazz just as in any 
art. The process requires mental and 
emotional efl'ort and a kind of social 
environment conducive to listening. To 
come to full maturity necessitates many, 
many years of critical listening and 

Another problem, according to Miller, 
is this business of deciding what isn't. 
"People just say it's a matter of opinion. 
That's perfectly true, but it's only half 
the story. Equally true is the fact that 
there are aesthetic standards agreed 
upon in the critical writing of all times 
which are foundations on which a good 
present-day critic can build his credo. 
These standards are not one man's 
opinion, but a series of competent men's 
opinions — opinions of generation after 
generation of people who have studied 
and labored over music. In the manner 
of cultural things, such permanent 
qualities consequently have been estab- 
lished over hundreds of years." 

As far as Miller is concerned, a cri- 
tic's opinion is his own, plus these 

permanent criteria. He suggests: read 
the critic you agree with. And he adds: 
as your tastes change, you will change 
your critics. 

More and more unanimous opinion 
he finds, is cropping up with regard to 
records, artists, and hot music in gen- 
eral. "Personally, I think Becht is one 
of the great instrumentalists in jazz. 
The same goes for Hackett, Armstrong, 
and Berigan." But many a currently 
popular jazz stylist — the King Cole trio 
for instance — he believes will eventu- 
ally drop from the list. Carrying the 
illustration further. King Cole is not 
an ultimate to Miller. "Consider the 
real test of a jazz record. Will you 
still think it great five, ten, or more 
years from now? Will your serious 
fellow students think so too? That's 
the sound test." 

Strangely enough. Miller's initial 
contacts with hot music didn't come 
when he was a musician. During early 
childhood in Wisconsin he displayed no 
special fondness for learning any in- 
strument. Not until he moved to Chi- 
cago in 1925 did he become interested 
in music. Those were the days when 
jazz was young, obscure, and hadn't 
impressed polite circles to any extent. 
Miller roamed the South Side where 
lusty jazz was anc^hored, and after 
months of exploration and hours of 
listening, he derived a predilection for 
hot music uncustomary to the times. 
(Continued on page 31) 


Page 11 

Northwestern's publicity is slanted with an eye towards the checkbook 
Cheese-cake doesn't promote endowments. 

FEW DAYS AGO I WAS Walking up 
Sheridan road, returning from a PAR- 
ROT assignment, when I ran into a 
philosophy major friend of mine. I'd 
rather not have seen him at the time, 
for I had the unclean, nervous feeling 
of an apostate and the sight of my 
critical friend brought forth a surge 
of guilt. I forthright started an apology 
which I feel must be made to many 
students at Northwestern. Having been 
sent into the lions' den of university 
administrative officers in charge of 
money raising, public relations and 
publicity, I not only came out alive, 
I'm a big buddy of the lions. Every- 
thing looked surprisingly clean to me, 
so I have to write it that way. Too bad 
I couldn't be a crusader! 

You remember the nasty business last 
spring when the university made a bid 
for financial contributions from stu- 
dents to build a bigger and better 
Northwestern. Some people got pretty 
acrimonious when the head of the 
school's Public Relations Office, Thomas 
A. Gonser, got his name in a Daily 
banner as he protested, "N. U. NOT 
RICH," explaining that showed possi- 
bilities of being the neatest trick of the 
week. Students became enraged, then 
sarcastic, then forgot about it. I had 
more important things to think about, 
too, until I came face to face with the 
formidable Mr. Gonser and started find- 
ing things out. 

The recently retired head of the 
Public Relations Office is amply built, 
has a self-assured smile, and slightly 
thinning silver hair. He seems pros- 
perous in his fine-fitting suits, his neat 
foulard ties. He's a nice guy, and is 
awfully sorry if students don't under- 
stand him and what he's doing. But, 
he shrugs, he owes no one an apology. 
I'm sorry I can't play the role of Lee 
Tracy and dig up some dirt — let's see 
what's up: 
Q.: What is the primary function of 

the Public Relations Office? 
A.: Fund-raising. 
Q.: Why raise funds? Who gets the 

money? (I thought I had him 

A.: Your tuition pays for less than half 

of your education at Northwestern. 

The university gets no direct money 

grants from the state. So we must 

depend upon gifts for much of our 

income. Donations can either be 
directly spent on running the school 
— faculty salaries, putting up new 
buildings, buying new equipment, 
cutting the grass, etc. — or can be 
invested, with the income from 
such investments being spent on 
the school. 

Q.: What's the financial set-up of the 

A.: It's a corporation with no stock 

Q.: How's that again? But if there's 

we just let them know we are 
around and what we're doing. 

Q.: Just what are you trying to do? 

A.: We are trying to make Northwest- 
ern the finest university possible. 
To accomplish this, we have faculty 
members speak to alumni groups, 
we show prospective donors around 
campus, and we do all sorts of 
things to let the general public 
know what we want and why. 
This dialogue may give you a general 

idea of what goes on "behind the 



any profit, who get's it? (That's 
pointed enough, eh?) 

A.: That's what I'd like to know. All 
income goes to the University itself, 
thus indirectly to you students. (At 
this point some enigmatic financial 
statistics were introduced. A feel- 
ing of guilt for having ignored 
commerce school these many years 
rushed into my mind and out 

Q.: Well, what does it all mean? Tell 

A.: You can see where the money goes. 
Where's this slush fund you're 
looking for? 

Q.: I guess it looks all right. (I was 
beginning to weaken at this point.) 
You spend so much, you invest so 
much. It seems to balance. 

A.: Of course it balances. We've got 
nothing to hide. My office contacts 
alumni and others by means of 
letters, the Alumni News, and Uni- 
versity sponsored dinnei-s in solicit- 
ing donations for scholarships, new 
buildings, and the like. Sometimes 
it's a direct appeal, at other times 

By Milton Schwartz 

scenes." Mr. Gonser first became asso- 
ciated with Northwestern in 1922 as an 
assistant to the president. Gifts to the 
University have jumped from S5.000.000. 
when he began his fund-raising, to 
today's whopping $85,000,000. 

Apparently that's a major league 
average in the fund-raising game, for 
Mr. Gonser has been called in to help 
Beloit, N. Y. U.. Notre Dame and West- 
ern Reserve, among other schools. He 
had an "I can hardly wait"' gleam in 
his eyes as he showed me yards of 
blue prints of planned buildings and 
improvements awaiting necessary dona- 
tions to blossom forth into reality. 

I suppose that everyone expects some 
peculiarity in such an alarmingly nor- 
mal, successful man, so I will mention 
that Mr. Gonser holds his cork-tipped 
cigaret between his teeth as he smokes. 
It's not easy: I tried it. 

Mr. Gonser took away my trump 
cards when he brought up a few em- 
barrassing questions that people keep 

As for discrimination against mem- 
bers of minority groups, something 

Page 12 


vague was said about a cross-section 
of society that the University tries to 
maintain in its student body. "There's 
discrimination, yes, but it's discrim- 
innation without mahcious motive. We 
try to get only those people who can 
fit into our environment comfortably. 
Thus we might keep out poor students 
who couldn't afford going to school in 
Evanston, not because we don't like 
other people, but for the good of every- 
one involved. We would like to solve 
these problems but we can't." 

Second in command of the Public 
Relations Office is Mr. Edward Strom- 
berg, who is primarily concerned with 

"Basically, we are here for education 
and research. These are the things we 
are most anxious to publicize. The 
newspapers and magazines are always 
after us for stories and pictures of 
beauty queens, fashion shows, and the 
like. We co-operate to a certain extent, 
but we have, on occasions, refused to 
let major national magazines run stories 
of a frivolous nature when those maga- 
zines have refused to do serious articles 
about us." 

You may have seen the recent spread 
in Life of several of our proudest co-ed 
beauties modeling the latest in campus 
fashions with their faces to the lens. 

Messrs. Stromberg, Paulison, and Gonser 

publicity. He describes his work glow- 
ingly as "use of the printed word to 
serve the University." Leaning back in 
his swivel-chair, placing his thumbs 
comfortably in the arm-holes of his 
vest, and looking out upon the peace 
that is Orrington at 4 p.m., Mr. Strom- 
berg spoke fondly of his job. 

"Publicity for its own sake has no 
intrinsic value. The University exists 
for education, and our work is directed 
to that end. We attempt to enhance 
the prestige of Northwestern to attract 
the best prospective students, interest 
philanthropists in our work, and get 
better people in our faculty." 

A highly altruistic man, Mr. Strom- 
berg looks upon his job as a mission 
in life. In addition to publishing all 
the school catalogues, announcements, 
and fund-raising literature, Mr. Strom- 
berg and his staff handle relations with 
the press and are very active in work- 
ing with prosoective donors. The prob- 
lem in regard to getting Northwestern 
into newspapers and magazines is one 
of the keeping matters academic and 
matters rah-rah in proper proportion. 

their backs to Deering Library. North- 
westei'n's name was not mentioned in 
the story. Who was snubbing who? 

Lectures by faculty men at high 
schools, Kiwanis Clubs, and other sim- 
ilar groups are sponsored by Mr. 
Stromberg. We get an occasional plug 
on the radio and in the movies through 
the efforts of this office, which once 
produced a 35 minute color film of its 
own. This movie, shown to high school 
and alumni groups, tells the story of 
Northwestern from its beginning in 
1851 until today. The film carefully 
points out that the rich, full life in the 
brave new world at Northwestern anx- 
iously awaits the aid of friends. 

We get space in the news columns 
often when some prominent faculty 
member comments on an important 
national or world event. Getting into 
the papers works two ways: either the 
publicity office sends out releases or 
the papers call for particular stories. 
The papers might want to know what 

Illustrated by 

Wally Sundholm 

we are doing, for example, about veter- 
ans" housing. Mr. Stromberg arranges 
for interviews with the proper parties, 
facilitates the photographer's work, and 
in general helps the newspaper man get 
what he is after. This year our un- 
usually good football team kept the 
office rushing to keep up on educational 

Mr. Stromberg is a tall, serious look- 
ing man. His neatly-combed hair, 
slightly gray at the temples, and his 
rimless glasses complete a picture which 
might inore aptly describe a church 
warden than a hyper-active publicity 
man. It was the midnight oil efforts 
of Mr. Stromberg and his staff that got 
Northwestern's prospects to Walter 
Murphy's lawyers ahead of those from 
other institutions, and started the nego- 
tiations which culminated in the original 
gift of $6,500,000, and the later one of 
$23,000,000, for the Technological In- 

A modest, retiring man in a modest, 
cubby-hole office is Walter Paulison. 
director of sports publicity for North- 
western. Among Mr. Paulison's tasks 
are turning out four news releases for 
the journals each week during the foot- 
ball season, publishing the football pro- 
gram every fall, playing host to the 
press at football games, working with 
newsreel cameramen, and help WBKB 
televise games at Dyche stadium, all of 
which keeps Paulison and his staff (con- 
sisting of one cute secretary) busy. 

The press box at Dyche accommo- 
dates two hundred newsmen. There 
are eight radio booths at present and 
four more are planned. Mr. Paulison 
has no trouble getting stations to broad- 
cast the games. Since there are only 
eight booths and many more than eight 
stations wanting to broadcast the games, 
the trouble is discouraging some of the 
radio people. That's why, according to 
Paulison, a charge is made for the 
privilege of carrying the gaines. 

Balaban & Katz bestowed upon us 
some kind of distinction when they 
started televising our games over their 
WBKB. making us the first school in 
the middle west to bring the sights and 
sounds of football into the home. To 
date, the University hasn't lost any 
studium customers as a result. 

So the next time you pay to fill your 
pen in the Reserve Room at Deering. 
remember that the University matches 
every penny you snend. 

And that is a direct result of the 
fund-raising and publicity efforts of the 
Public Relations Office — our unappre- 
ciated bread-winner. 

FEBRUARY, 19 47 

Pas:e 13 

Life Shouldnt Be 
More Like The Movies 


bromide. "Life should be more like the 
movies,' was remotely possible a few 
years ago. People actually did try to 
pattern their lives after screen hap- 
penings. Feasible horseoperas, obvious 
murder mysteries and the perennial 
family series didn't make the average 
moviegoer any more normal, but at 
least he didn't become a frustrated 
neurotic as a result of his weekly at- 
tendance. Lately, the movies are far 
too psychological and complicated to 
ever allow everyday life to catch up 
with them. Once the movies were 
attended as a source of entertainment. 
It's difficult to explain today's tremen- 
dous box-office attraction unless it's 
due to the decline and fall of pinochle. 
A simple comparison of the change in 
cinema tactics in the last ten or fifteen 
years points out the obvious. 

The Western hero used to be a silent, 
two-fisted hombre who shot straight, 
rode hard and never kissed the shy, 
demure heroine. The villain was a 
stinker and looked like one. The plot 
consisted merely of getting the mort- 
gage on the old homestead paid off, 
shooting the crooked banker and living 
happily ever after. The only resem- 
blance between ancient and modern 
horseoperas is the unwritten law, 
■"Western heroes never lose their hats."' 

I have a close friend whose only 
hobby is when attending the modern 
Western with pencil and paper to 
scratch down a mark for every shot 
fired from the hero's six-gun without 

By Rog Moran 

reloading. I believe his record is 
eighty-seven set by Smiley Burnette in 
"The Crisco Kid's Revenge." Now, in 
the average Western, the hero usually 
turns out to be a radio crooner called 
"Dakota Joe" Dalton who has never 
been outside of Flushing. Long Island. 
He takes his vacation out West so he 
can find out all about horses, Injuns 
and corral talk. He gets involved with 
the heroine who turns out to be the 
lady Faro-dealer at Sam's Round-Up 
Inn and who doubles as a torch singer 
on the side. Before the final curtain 
drops, the hundred and thirty pound 
hero singlehandedly beats be-Jesus out 
of eleven of the rival gang and, note 
this, never loses his Stetson. The plot 
involves a gang of rustlers using auto- 
gyros and bazookas, an international 
black market ring, and a mysterious 
deposit of radium under the out-house. 
When the loose ends of the plot are 
finally tied up, instead of strolling off 
into the sunset the way horseoperas 
used to end, the hero and heroine start 
their own radio program which is a 
huge success. The cinema classic ends 
with the entire cast grouped together 
singing "Hot Ralston Cain't Be Beat." 
As for the modern mystery, it is defi- 
nitely losing its pre-war popularity. 
Once, the average business man didn't 
mind too much being dragged out to a 

Illustrated by Gleini Clmrcli 

movie by the missus if he could nudge 
her halfway through and say, "The 
butler done it." He was invariably 
right, and it inflated his ego. At pres- 
ent, the plot opens with sLx or eight 
bankers, doctors, lawyers and other 
prominent people grouped about and 
attempting to assist and straighten out 
the hero. One of these who utters 
seven more syllables during the picture 
turns out to be the murderer. Lately 
the trend has been toward a psycho- 
neurotic returned G. I. hero. This brings 
the story closer to home. I'm led to 
believe. Instead of the cross-eyed but- 
ler or the half-witted brother being the 
murderer ^vith a natural motive, it's 
usually the hero's best friend, uncle, or 
at least, the trusted family doctor, and 
the motive is international in scope. 
Not only does this frustrate the tenth 
row Sherlock, but it tends to make 
him suspicious of his most unsuspicious 
neighbors and business associates. 

Of course, there is the other approach 
to the murder mystery. In it. the hero 
is a young, handsome "private eye" . . . 
usually a returned G.I. which brings 
the story closer to home, I'm led to 
believe. He never smiles, knows all 
the head-waiters in town, carries a few 
thousand for spending money, and all 
through the story beautiful young ladles 
with very loose morals fall all over 
themselves trying to get pretty -boy to 
help them. He always accepts but never 
knows just what to do. The only per- 
son more in the dark than the audience 
(Continued on page 33) 

Page 14 


BIRD'S Eye View 

almost crying in our beer about our 
poor brethren working so hard to put 
out a daily paper four times a week. 
From the looks of things, they were 
being sandbagged and walked on so 
much that their faces, lined up in a 
row, looked like one long heel-tread. 
We saw lines on their faces, and lines 
on the lines. 

We decided to see what was wreaking 
all this havoc on our once-erect (to a 
Piltdown degree) friends; and, for the 
first time since repeal, we picked up 
the soft, smooth, non-scratching Daily. 

The first thing we saw was a sad tale 
of woe by Betty Jo Clinton. It was 
really quite touching. "The weight of 
the university falls on me nearly every 
Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and 
Friday morning," she began. We sobbed 
softly, imagining her delicate figure 
pinned forlornly under the heavy cor- 
nerstone of Fisk hall. We read on. 

"I get so I never answer my phone 
until afternoon," she wrote. Our quiet 
sob becaine louder, as we saw a once- 
fair maiden sleeping ofT a heavy absin- 
the stupor, oblivious of all the joy in 
the Parrot office. 

"It isn't that the Daily makes all the 
mistakes." We considered this one, and 
decided that maybe the UN and Tru- 
man contribute their share too. "We 
do make mistakes," she modestly ad- 
mitted, "but we try hard. We are anx- 
ious to learn what we do wrong, but 
we don't like to take the blame for 
whatever else may happen." 

"I'll try in the future," she promised. 
That's the stuff, we enthused, wiping 
our eyes. Give 'em hell, B.J.! "When 
I'm bitter, it's because I so sincerely 
want the Daily to be the best we are 
capable of. But I know you do, too. 
So forgive me." 

"We do, we do," we moaned, a fresh 
gusher springing from each lachrymary. 

The experience was so unnerving that 
we couldn't look at a Daily for two 
weeks. Then our courage returned 
somewhat. "We'll read Dick McLaugh- 
lin's sports column this time," we ra- 
tionalized. "Dick's always happy and 
carefree. His hair even blows in the 
wind." We read his column. 

"I'm awfully happy," he started. 
There, we thought, see that? We looked 
at the next paragraph. "I haven't been 
able to get a thing in print. Not only 
have those night editors been so mean, 
but they subject me to punishment: 
kidding my bow ties and things like 

"My God, no!" we screamed involun- 
tarily. "Him too!" We pictured Mc- 
Laughlin, his body stretched on a rack 
writhing in torture, while a mad-look- 
ing pervert of a night-editor alternately 
tickled his toes with a feather and made 
insane remarks about his bow-tie. 

This was too much. We couldn't stand 
it. We had to do something. In desper- 
ation, we turned to the editorials. 
"There's Bill Brown," we rationalized. 
He doesn't even care about cracks about 
his bow-ties. He'll pick us up." 

A paragraph in bold-face type at- 
tracted us. We looked at it eagerly. 
"The editorial chair- 
man of the Daily 
has been worrying, 
too," it said. We 
started to sink, our 
glazed eyes catching 
the last words as we 
slowly sagged to the 
ground: "His tux was 
stolen last weekend." 
Not that, not that, we 
thought miserably just 
before we blacked out. 

A week later we 
thought we had recov- 
ered. We decided to 
pay a condolence call 
to the beaten barefoot 
boys in the Daily office. 
Robed in black, we en- 
tered. The place was 
deserted, but there was 
a large note scrawled 
in big red letters on 
the bulletin-board. We 
went to see. 

"The Daily's errors must stop. Hence- 
forth the following will be in effect: 
(for all staffs): 

"Any reporter, desk editor, asst, or 
night ed. who handled an erroneous 
story or head will be dropped at once 
from the staff. B. J. Clinton." 

We read this twice, then snorted. 
"Hell, she doesn't need any help, the 
old meany," we sneered. We staggered 
back to the Parrot office. 


Overheard in the grill: 

"What do you niean. join a fraternity? 
I already belong to Sig Chi." 

"No kiddin'? So do I. What year 
you in?" 


"Funny, that's my year too. Wonder 
why we haven't met before. Where 
you sit at the meetings?" 

"Third row center." 

"No wonder we haven't met before. 
I sit in the balcony." 


We really ought to say something 
about Pegasus, we suppose. But after 
reading thi-ough an uncomplimentary 
(Continued on page 34) 

FEBRU AR Y , 1947 

Page 15 


By George Gruenwald 


free, high-fidelity voice. Its students 
are cooperating in a unique training 
arrangement with the first post-war 
radio station, AM or FM, to be allotted 
air time in northern Illinois: Evanston"s 

Working under professional 
conditions, Northwestern stu- 
dents, particularly those of 
the speech and journalism 
schools, are heard regularly 
by the estimated 27,000 fre- 
quency modulation receiving 
set owners along the North Shore and 
in Metropolitan Chicago. The station's 
275 foot antenna projects newscasts, the 
a capella choir, dramatic shows and 
special events from lines which link 
Northwestern studios with the WEAW 
transmitter on the northeast corner of 
McCormick and Main in Evanston. 

President of the station is Edward A. 
Wheeler, a twenty-three-year-old ma- 
rine corps veteran who looks like 
Robert Cummings. He is a former 
Stanford university engineering stu- 

Three student radio majors. Bob 
Bassindale. Bill Butler and Bob Urban, 
each work twenty-two hour weeks as 
salaried announcers. Medill's energetic 
assistant professor Baskett Mosse, for- 
merly of NBC, serves as the station's 
director of news and special events, 
and Dean Kenneth E. Olson represents 
the School of Journalism. Dean James 
McBurney and Instructor Donald Fed- 
erson of speech school have charge of 
the drama productions and the student 
version of the Northwestern Reviewing 
Stand on WEAW. 

Speech school radio playshop per- 
formers, music school's a capella choir 
and members of both the speech and 
journalism school's radio sequences are 
regularly heard on WEAW broadcasts. 

The sixty-time weekly newscasts are 
prepared and announced by Medill 
students, who have set-up a big-time 
newsroom, complete with the United 
Press's full time radio or trunk wire, a 
staff of local reporters and a city editor. 
With the recently acquired wire re- 
corder, Medill's newscasters can cover 
any news event at a moment's notice, 
rebroadcast the on-the-spot 
account as soon as air time is 

Assisting in supervising the 
news programs originating 
from the campus studios are 
Arthur Holch, morning news 
editor, NBC, Chicago, and Benjamin 
Baldwin, member of WGN-Mutual's 
news staff. 

The journalism and speech 
schools maintain studio equip- 
ment and remote lines which 
connect them with WEAWs 
fifty-by-thirty foot studio. 

On Wheeler's end, in addi- 
tion to purchasing or renting 
the land, getting permission to 
transmit, securing a housing 
priority, winning city council 
permission to erect, and plan- 
ning and building the studio, 
interior transmission equip- 
ment runs around fifteen thou- 
sand dollars, while the lofty 
antenna is a matter of an addi- 
tional six to ten-thousand. 
Operational costs are around 
twelve-hundred a month. 

Broadcasting to an area 
which fans out about forty 
miles to the north and west of 
the station, WEAW programs 
can be picked up clearly in 
Waukegan, Aurora and Oak 
Park. Chicago's tall Loop ■ i 
buildings cut down the sta- /\ 
tion's southward coverage. The 
lake is to the east. 

Among the outstanding pol- 

icies inaugurated by WEAW are two 
features whicli will gladden the ears of 
the 'class" listener: no newscasts wUl be 
interrupted by commercials, no spot an- 
nouncements will be made dui'ing 
Class A-time (five p.m. to ten p.m.). 
Wheeler is leaving "Papa don't buy no 
other wine but Paradise Wine" and 
"Just the other day" to the AM sta- 
tions, at least in the p.m. 

Biggest stumbling block for many 
such projects, most people believe, is 
getting federal permission to undertake 
them. Ed Wheeler wants it known that 
he ran into absolutely no politics nor 
red tape when he flew to Washington, 
sans attorney, sans consulting engineer, 
and sewed-up his Federal Communica- 
tions Commission permit in a 
record (for the FM trade) ten 
hours. Medill's Dean Olson 
says: "It's a grand opportunity 
for our students. WEAW gets 
top-notch professionally 
trained talent, and the talent 
gets a professional outlet." 

Right now, broadcasting time 
is inexpensive: thirty dollars 
for a Class A hour and twenty 
for a Class B hour (morning, 
early afternoon, after ten at 
night) . As the predicted sales 
of four inillion FM sets, or sets 
having FM circuits, during 1947 
swell WEAW's audience, time- 
rates will climb, shows will be 
given large budgets. 

In the beginning, most shows 
will be phonograph record se- 
lections, radio transcriptions 
and special events. However, 
Norman Ross. Jr. is already 
programing an evening disc 
jockey spot, and a pair of avia- 
tion authorities are building a 
show for the air-minded. 

Special service programs are 
offered by the Council of So- 
(Contmued on page 35) 

Page 16 


PREPARING A NEWSCAST— Medlll's radio news laboratory edits, 
rewrites all of WEAW's news shows from wire services and own 
staff of reporters. 

Shown here, from left, are Sheldon Grosse, Hurshul Goldburg, Jim Ward, 
Bob Bassindale, Professor Basketf Mosse and Beverly hlollander. 

DRAMATIC SHOW— S p e e c h 
school students write, direct and 
broadcast own dramatic shows on 
relay line to WEAW from own 

HERE'S A BULLETIN — News announcer Sam Vir+s reads copy with one eye, while other watches 
second hand moving toward show's closing time. The end of Sam's speel and 3:44:30 should be 
simultaneous, in this case. 

TOP NEWS — Richard Tufeld, right, eyes Jim Callaway and Reva Flshman as they 
prepare lead news story for his show. Last minute developments on news fronts 
sometimes forces newscasters to "tack-up" wire copy. 

STUDENT FORUM — Speech school radio players are trained not to rattle scripts, 
no matter how tense their parts. Emoting, from left, are Sari Goodman, Don 
Alman, Jane Lorenzen. 



FLORAL CIRCLE — Dolphin Show mermaids Pat Jonas, Alberta Skolnick, Nellie 
Adams, Jane Ann Nunn, Elaine Nish, Pat Rice and Jean Angle form a water 
lily pattern, one of the many aquatic designs the water ballerinas presented in 
last month's highly successful aqua-ballet. 


Under the direction of Big Ten Diving Champ Ronnie Trumble, "Howdy 
Pahdner" — a Wild West splash party which shamed Billy Rose's Aquacade 
— recently sent Waa-Mu talent scouts underwater. 

Original songs, a dry-land choral group and a corps of specialty swimmers 
and divers paced the enticing gymnastics of the marine kick-line. 

Deserving special mention is fancy high-diver Jeanne Kessler (above right), 
the smart costuming, the underwater lighting and the show's overall 
professional-type production. 


Dolphin Show 


GAD, BUT WE WERE THIRSTY last week. Luckily, Photographer Editor Paul 
Mollory had his camera handy and Syllabus entrepreneur Walt Kemp had 
his new Chevy handy, so . . . SO, we don't know how the deuce that 
bowling picture, below, crept in. 

In case it had escaped you, this sequence of pictures is a policy story. 
Everyone has been telling us that Parrot people— and publications people 
in general— are a bunch of automatons who can be turned on and off 
merely by shouting "deadline." 

We hasten to correct this statement. Any reference, in any language, to 
that bountiful brew which so happily mixes with the printer's ink in our 
veins has been known to draw quite a response from our staffers. 

Now, Kennedy, about that Parrot party . . . 

STUDY HALL for Kappa Delt Janie Sivill and Phi Psi Bob Price turns 
out to be the Oasis. This just goes to prove that Northwestern 
students, no matter where they are, are bookworms. 

'INNING— Available Frank Griffith watches bowling shark Nancy Perrin 
IS she nets a few pins for her collection at a local ten pin dispensary. 

NEAR NORTH SIDE— Art Stevens, Joyce Clohesey, Jack Courtney, J. 
Crissey and Available Frank again. Group is holding table for a tri. 
who's bringing the folding money. Sarsaparilla is expensive! 

WHERE ELSE? — Camera conscious, at least, are Jim Smith, JacI 
Bevins, Pot Law, Jac Cremin, Kenny Knudsen, Jean Hendricks 
The beer bottles are props. 

DERU AND GUESTS MEET — Standing, from left: Chuck Chidsey, Stan Needham, Jim 
Vynaiek, John Cooley, George Black, Judd Weinberg. Seated: Bill Riethmiller, 
George Gruenwald, Dave Armbruster, Bob Williams, Frank Sayles, Rog Moran, 
Swede Johnson, Bucky Buchanan, Dick Trembeth. 

FRISKY CHRISTIE, surrounded by a contingent of odmirir 

UNKEMPT KEMP — Chicago campus editor of the Syllabus deserts his 
bailiwick to close the Club Small. Any similarity between the character 
depicted here and Walt Kemp isn't too surprising. 

ilCATURE by the Marine Dining Room's cartoonist was a feature of 
evening for the crowd pictured at left. We'll not mention the 
nesof these people, they get Jpo damn much publicity anyway. 

BE-BOP, ETC. — Kappa Sigs and young lady friends aren't sure 
whether music at New Del Shore sends them or not. Rugged 
man in foreground, obviously peeved with Photog Mallory, 
wishes he'd stayed home. 


As at other campuses which have undergone 
wartime changes, private student lives at 
Northwestern are not entirely the rah and 
blah they often appear to be on the 

On these pages The Parrot presents a few 
campus personalities who are taking this 
college thing seriously, either from a healthy 
desire to eat regularly, or (they assure us) 
from sheer love of being occupied. 

So If your beer-drinking activities are re- 
stricted by homework, and you're bitter, 
observe these characters who work in their 
free time and thrive on it. It may be a worth- 
while idea, we don't know; but we're cer- 
tainly thinking about it. 

IR MAY QUEEN. Harrie+te Rhawn, Pi Phi. looks as if she 
ongs in the flower arrangement being passed from London's 
a! ice box by Sigma Nu Ed McGinty. This job helps affiliated 
sons pay for play. 





O WHITE SHIRTS today, says Speech school junior Dick 
■itton, who attempts to palm-off an open-necked substitute on 
ur wary photographer. Paul Mallory. Dick clerks in Lytton's 
en's furnishings department. z^*^ li-. 

MMMMMMM, but Tri Delt model June Austin looks appealing. 
June, who's been modeling since her twelfth birthday, works 
for Pat Stevens' agency, and regularly appears in national 
magazine advertising. I 

JIMCRACKS, thingamajigs and hoot-nannies are sold by 
5eta Bill Jones, who aims to corner Northwestern's novelty 
narket with his Colt automatics which shoot cigarets instead 
)f .45 slugs, and his lighters that work! 


NOT IN EVANSTON. but Jack Siissmuth promotes Schmidt's 
City Club Beer in the Chicago area not included within the 
WCTU's "three mile limit." This picture was taken in the 
Grill and those bottles aren't real. 

VACATION VOCATION of Alpha Chi Barb McDonald an 
Phi Gam Bob Gray is sparking George Racine's hard-workin 
staff at the Student Book Exchange. Bob and Barb pose, e: 
changing books. 




STACKING IN STACKS at Deering is Alec Revell, an ex 
marine whose part-time job keeps him constantly "on-the 
books." You simply jot a note describing the tome you wish 
and Alec does the vigorous rest. 

> V 




' s Id el Is 





helping me, to abstain from, all dis- 
tilled, fermented and malt liquors, in- 
cluding wine, beer and cider, and to 
employ all proper means to discourage 
the use of and traffic in the same." 

Many of us, suffering from swollen 
heads on January 1, might have made 
this rash resolution only to renege 
later on. Yet millions of women who 
have never had a hangover take this 
vow without thought of reneging. 
Sixty-five thousand more did so last 

This vow is the membership pledge 
of the Women's Christian Temperance 
Union. Temperance is spelled a-b- 

When you read at the Davis street 
"L" station the sign, "W.C.T.U. Na- 
tional Headquartei-s two blocks east," 
you may picture a squad of bugle- 
beaked gray-haired Methodists bom- 
barding a fifth with pea-shooters at 
forty paces. 

Actually there are neither fifths nor 
pea-shooters at national headquarters. 
And though there are some aquiline 
noses and hoary heads about the prem- 
ises, they are not an overwhelming 

National headquarters are located at 
1730 Chicago avenue. They consist of 
two buildings: Frances Willard's Rest 
Cottage, now converted into a me- 
morial-museum, and the administration 
building. The latter houses three of the 
five national officers, including Mrs. D. 
Leigh Colvin, president, Miss Violet T. 
Black, treasurer, and Miss Lily Grace 
Matheson. corresponding secretary, and 
has a publishing wing and a library. 
Here also work the youth organizer, 
the male researcher, and the managing 
editors of the two official publications: 
The Union Signal and The Young 

Rest Cottage was the name Miss 
Willard's family gave their spacious 
fifteen-room dwelling-place. After Miss 
Willard died, the cottage was occupied 
by Miss Anna Gordon, fourth president 
of the W.C.T.U. Today a guide escorts 
you through to point out the relics of 
the past. 

Frances Willard was the national 
union's second president and the 

founder of the world organization. 
Commemorating her work in this latter 
regard, the W.C.T.U. has preserved in 
the reception room of the cottage the 
famous Polyglot petition. The petition, 
written by Miss Willard, was the first 
world-wide proclamation against the 
drug and liquor traffic. Scrolls with 
seven million signatures representing 
fifty nations are shelved alongside the 
petition. Included are names from 
Turkey, India, Siam, and Iceland. 

The entire house, with the exception 
of the Anna Gordon room on the first 
floor, is decorated with Willard me- 
mentos. Even in the bathroom upstairs 
there stands the high wooden tub 
where Miss Willard spent her Saturday 
nights. In the living room there is an 
old iron bell given to the W.C.T.U. in 
the '80's by some Japanese. They gave 
up smoking and had their metal pipes 
melted down. 

Photographs of thirty-nine schools 

named for Frances Willard throughout 
the country, including those in Evans- 
ton and Chicago, are kept in the living 
room along with pictures of buildings, 
streets, museums, plaques, dormitories 
and trees bearing the Willard name. 

In the dining room individual framed 
pictures of twelve birds decorate the 
walls. Each bird, the guide said, repre- 
sents a different month. Over on the 
sideboard are attractive doilies basing 
the big bronze beverage containers of 
the period. One of the doilies bears 
this incriptive command: "Polly put 
the kettle on — We'll all have tea." 

Upstairs the main attraction is Miss 
Willard's study. Everything possible 

has been kept exactly as it was when 
she was alive. Two pairs of eyeglasses 
are on the desk alongside a sign read- 
ing "This is my busy day." The Bible 
in which Miss Willard made marginal 
notes is on a small table. Unfortunately 
it is wrapped in cellophane so that one 
is unable to determine her critique of 
pure holiness. 

All this fanfare for Miss Willard is 
not without justification. She was the 
prime mover in the organization. Yet 
it is little known by outsiders that this 
monosexual institution grew from the 
words and convictions of a man. 

As a boy, Dio Lewis watched his 
mother and his female neighbors suc- 
cessfully conduct a war of prayers 
against the saloon-keepers of Auburn, 
N. Y. They would enter the hooch 
houses, drop on their knees, and pray 
so intently that even the more sober 
patrons would be touched. Because of 
the crusade the town went dry. Dio's 
father was forced on the wagon, 
and home became sweet again. 

Some forty years later, in 1873, 
Lewis imparted to the women of 
Fredonia, N. Y., the same tactics 
his mother had used. Out they 
marched, praying from one saloon 
to the next. Though failing in 
Fredonia, the movement caught 
fire, and temperance bands mush- 
roomed (or toadstooled from the 
point of view of the innkeepers) 
all over the country. In November 
of the following year, the various 
groups banded together into a 
national organization. The world 
W.C.T.U. was formed in 1884 by 
Frances Willard. 

Today, the W.C.T.U. is composed of 
sixty-one state and territorial units 
and represents, on a world scale, fifty- 
four nations. Internationally, the or- 
ganization is a loose federation with 
each nation deciding its own internal 
policies to conform with national con- 
ditions. In the U. S. each state and 
territory has its own organization, with 
California and Washington having two 
each. Delegates from the state organ- 
izations meet once a year in national 
convention. The executive council, 
which formulates policy, is composed 
(Contimied on page 35) 





/// The 


with Bill Kreutz 

(^ WENT INTO Patten Gym last month 
completely ignorant of the organization 
of a college swimming team. Departing 
some while later, iny enthusiasm and 
interest in the sport was that of a rabid 
supporter. This new interest was 
brought about by my acquired under- 
standing of the art of swimming. As I 
sat watching the boys traveling up and 
down the pool, building up endless 
laps, developing wind and co-ordina- 
tion, one of the men on the team ex- 

plained to me the purpose and goal of 
perfection they were striving to 
achieve. They have been in training 
since the fall quarter; practicing two 
to three hours a day under the keen 
supervision of their coach. Bill Peter- 
son. Coach Peterson is starting his 
fourth season at the Wildcat helm. The 
swimming team, bolstered by several 
pre-war stars will launch its 1947 cam- 
paign with the expectation of chalking 
up points for a successful season. 

During the last three years the tank- 
ers have kept pace with Big Nine com- 
petition. But the greatest disadvantage 
to our organization has been the lack 

of balance and the absence of good 
divers. In the various events the back- 
stroke and breaststroke have achieved 
for us a majority of our points in com- 
petition. Bob Tannehill is one of the 
many lettermen whose return will plug 
the team. Bob was high-point man in 
backstroke and placed fourth in the 
Big Nine last year. He is anxious to get 
started again to surpass his previous 
achievement. Though it seemed doubt- 
ful that we would have the assistance 
of Don Kauffman this season, he is 
back with the team with an even 
greater determination to over- 
come this handicap. 

Another freestyler that should 
not be left unnoticed is Bill 
Heusner, who is returning to 
school in January. Bill placed 
second in the national collegi- 
ates at Michigan in the 440 yard 
free-style and 1500 meters. With 
this versatile swimmer N. U. 
will be keen competition for 
schools well known for their 
swimming ability such as Ohio 
State and Purdue. 
The nature of this article would be 
incomplete without relating the color 
brought to the meet by the divers. Two 
men that have proved their ability as 
divers are Chuck Chelich and Ronnie 
Trumbull. Although Chuck has not 
established a name in college competi- 
tion, his ability to be a champion has 
been attested. While in the Navy he 
took top honors in the Navy Olympic 
Open and emerged the victor at the 
Men's Army Day Open in Hawaii. 
While practicing diving with the swim- 
ming team at Fort Lauderdale during 
the Christmas holidays. Chuck sprained 

his ankle, but he is expected to be in 
tip-top condition for the beginning of 
the conference meets. 

N. U. is starting the season with a 
three meter board in preference to a 
one meter board, and Chuck finds that 
this will be a definite advantage in per- 
fecting his stretch before entering the 
water. Ronnie Trumbull, who needs 
no introduction to the N. U. students 
and who has already demonstrated his 
superiority to his Big Nine opponents 
is back with the team again to continue 
bringing success to the wildcat tankers. 
Ronnie was Big Nine diving champion 
in 1944 and Coach Bill Peterson be- 
lives that 1947 will equal his past 

I have seen Ronnie and Chuck ex- 
hibit their dives with perfection, but it 
would take more than just paper and 
pencil to give you a description of their 
form as they leave the board and enter 
the water. Usually when a person steps 
off the springboard it is with anticipa- 
tion of a soft landing in short order but 
these boys do their best to linger in the 
air a while before breaking the surface. 
Ronnie says that he would like to stop 
momentarily in the air, stretch his legs, 
extend his arms and curl the toes just 
before going in to the water. 

This year's conference meets will 
have three judges seated to measure 
each dive on the basis of one to ten 
points. The difficulty of each dive 
ranges from 1.6 to 2.4. The various 
dives are placed in difficult groups. One 
point six is compai'able to a swan while 
a one and a half gainer with the one 
and a half foi-ward and one and a half 
sommersault is measured at 2.4. 

Pn'xe 26 


) \F Eddie Dorset hadn't found the 
mermaid, he might still be the idle, 
dreamy-eyed bum he was a few years 
back. Most people who believe in mer- 
maids at all think they are scheming 
witches, who'll try to cast an evil spell 
on humans they look upon, but it's a 
cinch Eddie's mermaid didn't do him 
anj' harm. People around Cape Por- 
poise thought Eddie was just a damn 
fool, going around hunting for troubles, 
instead of working at his lobster traps, 
like an honest man. 

But Eddie would hear none of it. So 
the shingles blew off his shack, and 
Eddie didn't fix them till the rain had 
damped him for days. If Eddie's old 
dory sprang a leak, he'd just say it was 
a curse of the devil's ill fortune, that 
only the best possible luck, like finding 
a live mermaid, could counteract. He 
didn't begrudge the other residents of 
Cape Porpoise the fruits of their labors: 
but Eddie was just one of those people 
who figured he had something coming 
to him the easy way, and as it turned 
out, he was right, and after he'd proved 
his theory, the rest of the town looked 
on him with respectful awe. 

But it was tough going, pinning all 
your faith on something no one else 
really believed in, at all. When Eddie 
came up from his beach shack to make 
his purchases in town, the kids would 
hoot after him for being a tattered, 
lazy rascal, he who'd inherited the 
rights to a good fishing ground from 
his hard-working father. And when 
word got around that the skinny lad 
wouldn't work at his fishing trade be- 
cause he said he'd find a lucky mermaid 
one day. the grownups would hardly 
even talk to him at all, except Betty 
Sawyer, and it was hard on her, with 
folks so down on Eddie, and thinking 
he was daft. 

Betty knew Eddie better than any- 
one else in town. She and Eddie had 
hunted crabs in the tide pools to- 
gether, from the time they were kids, 
and after a storm you could find the 
two of them out along the rocks, 
looking for any birds they could patch 
up, that might have been hurt in the 
wind. Betty was as pretty as a bit of 
brightwork, and she'd been at the 
head of her class in school, too, so 
when she told folks to stop picking on 
Eddie, they did, and no two ways about 
it. Betty could have had any lad in 
Maine, just for the taking, but she 
stuck by Eddie, and people used to say 
Betty was going too far with her kind- 
ness to dumb animals. But they 

Sacue and tUe 

wouldn't say it where Betty could hear. 

Well. Eddie just set his traps often 
enough to keep himself in oilskins and 
vegetables, and when he came up to 
town, he'd corner anyone who'd listen, 
and tell him of the hard luck he was 
having with his nets, or his boots, or 
the weather. "But just you watch," he'd 
say. "Some of these days I'll find that 
lucky mermaid, and the world will be 
mine.'' And then he'd stride off, 
whistling some aimless little melody, 
and maybe not be seen in town for 
two weeks. 

Even Betty could only 
stand so much, and there 
got to be a time when 
she'd just mope around 
Doc Sawyer's office in 
town, and if a patient 
asked her how Eddie was 
getting on, she'd get blaz- 
ing mad, and say that 
Eddie could just go find 
his old mermaid by him- 
self, for all she cared. It 
got so she was even running out with 
some of the college boys on weekends, 
and times Eddie came into town, he 
was downright grumpy, and you 
couldn't even get a rise out of him by 
asking him if he'd found the mermaid 
that would change his luck. 

Then, one day he did. No one else 
was there when it happened, but Eddie 
tells it about like this: 

It was one morning after a spell of 
foul weather had finally broken up. 
The sea was still wild, and the wind 
had the buoys clanging like church 
bells offshore, but the sky wasn't as 
black anymore. It was raining out; and 
during ebb tide. Eddie was out along 
the shore, hunting for mermaids, or 
driftwood, he says now, if he ever men- 
tions it, which he doesn't, very often. 
Or if he does, he says it kind of as if it 
were a joke. But it wasn't, then: not to 
Eddie. Anyhow, he came upon a tide 
pool, behind some rocks, and there was 
his mermaid, just as big as life. 

Now, Eddie had been expecting some 

By TOD Evans 

creature that would be half a goddess, 
and half a fish, and that would give him 
her blessing and make his life a happy, 
prosperous one, right off. But it wasn't 
just like that. Instead, Eddie says, it 
was a slimy creature with green hair, 
and though it was a mermaid and no 
mistake, it had that dead sort of look 
that a flounder's got in its eyes, and 
when it talked, it croaked like a frog. 
It was certainly a pretty well be- 
draggled mermaid, and not just the 
sight Eddie'd expected. But he'd been 
waiting for it, all his life, and he admits 
he might have built it up 
a bit too much, in his 
mind's eye. So Eddie 
stepped up to the edge of 
the tide pool and said 
good morning. 

"Good morning." re- 
pUed the mermaid, with 
a scared look. "Get me 
out of this blasted puddle, 

"And if I do," said Ed- 
die, "what will you do for me?" 

"Do for you? Why give you a civil 
'thank you', and be off about my busi- 
ness. What could I do for you? I have 
none of your silly human money." 

"Well," said Eddie, "then I'll put you 
in a tank, and send you around the 
country, on exhibition. People will pay 
a lot of quarters to see something they 
think is just a figment of their imagina- 

The fishy eyes looked human for a 
moment, staring at Eddie. "I'm cer- 
tainly not a figment of anything, and 
besides, I'd die, out of the ocean, and 
people will say you're a faker, with a 
freak dead fish. You'd never have 
seen me at all, yourself, if you hadn't 
been expecting to, so hard. I don't 
think people will believe I'm what I am, 
even if they see me." 

Eddie was pretty touched bj- all that 
speech, and pretty disappointed, too. 
But it was plain that the creature could 
do him no good, and he didn't want to 




see it die. 

"Well, then, I'll carry you back down 
to the breakers. No offense. I'd just 
been hoping, that was all.'' So he picked 
up the thing and carried it across the 
sand spit that separated the tide pool 
from the water's edge, and let the 
mermaid slip into the water. 

"That's better," said the mermaid. 
"You're a nice boy. And because you've 
hoped so hard, and there's no harm in 
hoping, I will give you a little good 
luck, because a little's all I have to 
give. You'd best get back to your lob- 
ster pots and your fishing, because 
that's yours to be doing, not fooling 
around with mermaids, that hard- 
working folks don't even have time to 
think about. 'We're of no account to 
you in your world, nor can you be 
anything to us. So I'll be off. Good- 
bye." She flipped her scaly tail. "Don't 
take any wooden mermaids." 

If the mermaid hadn't been every- 
thing Eddie had dreamed her to be, she 
had given him a touch of her magic, 
and he was a happy man. Except that 
he was worried about Betty and those 
college boys. 

But he got to work that very day, 
getting his gear in order, and getting 
ready to make the luck work. And 
sure enough, it did. I or Eddie's 
catches are good ones, and his dory 
doesn't leak anymore. He's got a new 
roof, and when he sets out in the grey 
morning, before anyone else is about, 
there's Betty standing in the doorway 
of the beach cottage, waving him good- 
bye, and helping to make the luck 
work. That's a full-time job, and no 
one around here ever gives Eddie any 
more smart talk about mermaids being 
unlucky, either. They know that if 
finding a mermaid worked like it did 
for Eddie, it would work that way for 
them, too. 


Northwestern claims another ex- 
quiz kid, Cynthia Cline, who is now- 
working toward a master's degree in 
English. ... 

"Northwestern also can claim 
graduate Quiz kids Cynthia Cline, 
now working for her master's degree 
in music, . . ." 

— Two subsequent paragi-aphs. 
Daily Northwestern 

— All right, Cynthia, we've got our 
claim staked. Now, for God's sake 
make up j/onr mind. 



By H. Gordon Lewis 


classes was longer than it had ever 
been in the history of the university. 
Some of the students were beginning 
to be a bit irritated. "Hell," said one 
burly fellow, loudly enough for prac- 
tically everyone within twenty feet to 
hear, "this is worse than the Okinawa 
mess-line. Keerist, I thought I was 
through standing in line when I got 

Many of the men and women with- 
in earshot looked annoyed. Some 
shrugged. Only a few looked sympa- 
thetic or smiled. "If he doesn't like it," 
one girl half-whispered, "I guess the 
university can survive without him." 

A short while later, in the grill, sev- 
eral men wearing the honorable dis- 
charge insignia were talking, again 
loudly enough for those sitting in a 
wide area to hear. "Well, anyway," 
one of them said belligerently, "I told 
them birds that they weren't going to 
pull any of that freshman-cap crap 
on me. 'Look,' I told them, 'If I pledge 
your fraternity, I don't want none of 
this freshman-cap or initiation stuff, 
understand?' They 
jumped all over me. 
promising they wouldn't 
start nothing." 

The attitude adopted 
by too many veterans 
who have returned to 
attend college is unfor- 
tunately, best exempli- 
fied by one word: 
belligerence. "The 
world owes me a living" 
idea has spread from its 
original conception in 
less clear-t h i n k i n g 
brains to the minds of 
most returned service- 
men, with cancer-like 

"I'm getting just a 
little fed up with these 
guys," said one girl 
working in the 'Veterans 
office. "Every one of 
them comes in and 
bawls out everybody in 
sight because something 

is wrong. They're at fault themselves 
ninety-nine per cent of the time, of 

The attitude of most civilians toward 
veteran students is typified by the 
owner of a nearby restaurant, a favorite 
campus 'hangou*.' "Don't get me 
wrong," he warned carefully. "I real- 
ize what a terrific job most of these 
fellows did. But it just rubs me the 
wrong way when I see a bunch of 
Joes, who probably would never have 
even come to college if the G.I. Bill 
hadn't been passed, sitting here griping 
and complaining because the govern- 
ment isn't giving them enough extra 
money or because somebody caught up 
with theni buying books they don't 

The crux of the whole thing is this: 
veterans are creating the same new 
impression that they achieved in France 
iminediately after liberating that coun- 
try. Just as the Frenchmen felt a grow- 
ing animosity toward the loud-mouthed 
G.I.'s who took over their cities and 
called them "frogs," so a lot of Ameri- 
cans, in lesser way, of course, are be- 

"Willard. who in the hall do you u-ant?" 

Page 2 8 


ginning to pronounce the term "vet- 
eran" with a decidedly unpleasant 

Any thinking veteran will see at 
once that he is really the cause for 
the long line, and that he, who wishes 
to appear more mature and less "col- 
legiate," should be the last to gripe 
about trivial things; and many take 
this attitude. 

In the mind of the veteran who re- 
turns to college, such things as school 
spirit, fraternities, and campus activi- 
ties are beneath his dignity. He doesn't 
applaud or cheer at football games, 
adopting a "who cares?" attitude he 
hopes is blase; he shuns fraternities, 
on the ground that they are childish, 
but actually because he hates to be a 
pledge — ask any veteran to join as a 
full member and you will get few state- 
ments that fraternities are childish; and 
he does not enter into campus activities 
because he is, he says, spending his 
time on more important things. 

This explanation might be swallowed, 
except for one thing: veterans who 
were in fraternities before leaving for 
the armed forces have almost unani- 
mously returned to active offices in 
that fraternity; college athletic teams 
are composed mainly of veterans who 
obviously have some school spirit; and 
campus activities are shot through with 
better-adjusted veterans. 

The only conclusion to be reached 
from these facts is that a lot of veterans 
are misanthropes, and the fault lies 
with no one but themselves. They have 
come back from the army expecting en- 
tirely too much, and are angry when 
no one jumps to attention when they 
snap their fingers. 

These veterans, who so blandly ac- 
cuse everyone within shouting dis- 
tance of childishness, are certainly 
guilty of that trait themselves, for they 
more so than any other students, are 
likely to sulk and gripe when some- 
thing goes wrong; they, more than any 
other students, are likely to devote 
their time to trivialities; and they, 
more than any other students, are 
likely to place the blame on anyone 
but themselves. 

Naturally, a lot of veterans are not 
included in these classifications; and it 
is they who are most harmed by the 
belligerent attitude of the others, for 
sooner or later they will be included 
when the puble begins to think of the 
term "veteran" with a sneer; the 
philosopher who said, "All generaliza- 
tions are false, including this one," 

was certainly correct — and the veteran 
who has made an effort to understand 
and meet the situation halfway is just 
in his anger at being included in a 
group who has denied all efforts at 

The great misfortune about the whole 
thing is that veterans do not see that 
they are only harming themselves by 
this attitude of supercilious superiority. 
In France, they could call the people 
"Frogs" and get away with it; in 
Korea, they could call them "Gooks" 
and nothing would happen; and in the 
United States they can adopt the same 
attitude and get away with it for 
a while. But anyone who has observed 
the reactions of Frenchmen and Kore- 
ans can predict the result of this out- 
look: those same Frenchmen who 
cheered their liberators cheered even 
more when American soldiers were 
shipped out. 

Greek and Norse mythology is full 
of legends of people being turned into 
animals; only American mythology has 
the story of war heroes being turned 
into jackasses. 


J L 


ll^lALTQl <^-%±i 

A Box of Life- 
savers for the 
Best Joke! 
What is the 
best joke that 
you heard on 
the campus this 
week? For the 
best submitted 
each issue, 
there Mill be a 
free award of a 
carton of Life- 
savers. Jokes 
will be judged 
by the Editor. 
Submit them at 
the Parrot of- 

"Well, let's put it this way, I'm 
majoring in physical education." 

Pa: "Well, son, how are your 

Son' "They're under water."' 

Pa: "What do you mean, under 

Son: "Below 'C level." 

Are you 

wooug Ejf t m 


You might be — if you love onions and men too! 
They just don't go together. Honey! Unless, that is, 
you keep your breath sweet with yummy Life Savers. 
Then, you're in the groove right. You can go on loving 
onions, men, and of course you'll love Life Savers, too. 

^ "In the groove" backwards 

F E BR VARY, 1947 

Page 2 9 




All plastic 


"They Last a Lifetime" 

Benedict Benell 

Evenings by appointment 

No One We Know 

Get wise 
about colds! 

Hoos Drug Store 

(From page 10) 

The world did not affect William Casey. 
Neither did he affect the world. Wil- 
liam Casey was looking at some cows 
grazing, when the bus tire exploded. 
As the bus turned over on the embank- 
ment, the cows came up to meet him. 

William Casey was as happy as he 
ever was. 

4^ * * 

John Anders, management consultant 
and candidate for the vice-presidency 
of the Society for the Advancement of 
Commerce, bought a round-trip bus 
ticket for Southville. The Society for 
the Advancement of Commerce was 
scheduled to hold its post-war election 
in Southville the following day. 

Mr. Anders unzipped his tkree-sided 
notebook and took out his commeixial 
journal. As the bus rolled toward 
Southville, Mr. Anders' mind was clut- 
tered with secular trends, motion and 
time studies, and theories of the busi- 
ness cycle. There was a new lag and 
lead theory, an offshoot of the business 
cycle, which might conceivably yield a 
fortune if properly applied. 

Occasionally, Mr. Anders' thought- 
trenched brow would relax, but only 
long enough to review his calculations. 
When he began anew, his forehead fur- 
rowed as if to drain any loose thoughts 
into the working area. The figuring 
soon became so complex that he was 
forced to rest. 

His respite consisted of writing an 

acceptance speech for his nomination as 
vice-president of the S.A.C. The usual 
acceptance would do. Mr. Anders was 
a businessman, not a speechmaker. He 
had impressed that fact upon his sub- 
ordinates with a sage "actions speak 
louder than words." 

The hope of procuring a fortune, 
hov/ever, soon spoke louder than the 
necessity for writing a speech, even a 
speech of acceptance before the S.A.C. 

Mr. Anders had a moment of illumi- 
nating insight: why not use Fischer's 
ideal index as supplement to multiple 
correlation? He was writing the formula 
of the ideal index when the bus tire 
exploded. As the bus turned over on 
the embankment, he suddenly remem- 
bered that he had not eliminated type 

He would have to start all over. 
# * •* 

She frowned once more, this time at 
the crusts of toast her husband had left. 

"Three people were killed and ten 
others injured when a Transcity Bus 
overturned late last night ten mUes 
from the city. A defective tire was 
blamed, according to a Coveral Insur- 
ance Company representative. Those 
killed in the crash were . . ." 

"Anyone we know?" asked her hus- 

"No, no one we know," Mrs. Wilsome 
answered abstractedly, as she folded 
the paper, frowned, and began clearing 
the breakfast dishes. 

Get the Huddle Habit 

^'hether for breakfast or that morning cup of coffee 
. . . lunch or afternoon tea . . . dinner or late evening 
snack — it's always the Huddle — the place to meet your 

Now open from 7 A.M. until 12 midnight. 

The Huddle 

-in the Orrington Hotel 

Photo by Paul Mallorij 

Page 30 


Jazz in Chicago 

(From page 11) 

In the early thirty's he found himself 
in journalistic outburst over jazz and 
its stepson, 'swing,' introduced by a 
clarinetist named Goodman. In 1935 in 
the English pamphlet "Hot News," 
Miller's first article was published. He 
jumped quickly to Down Beat in 1936, 
and continued as contributing editor 
and record reviewer through 1939. Dur- 
ing his final year with the local journal 
he earned the distinction of being the 
first American critic to edit a book 
dealing exclusively with jazz — "Down 
Beat's Yearbook of Swing." Miller re- 
calls that it was on the presses a short 
two months before Charles Edward 
Smith's "Jazzmen." His editing tasks 
expanded in 1940 when he accepted 
editorship of the new Music and 
Rhythm magazine. The venture folded 
after eighteen months of intermittent 
success. Meanwhile, he was contribut- 
ing material to "'Who's 'Who in Music." 
The success of Esquire's famous 
"Jazz Book," which has been published 
three times since 1944, was due prin- 
cipally to Miller's slick handling. Es- 
quire had the idea for the book in 1943, 
and late that summer commissioned 
Miller to handle the details. For the 
introductory copy in January, 1944, 
and the two follow-ups in "45 and '46, 
Miller supervised the production, se- 
lected the photos, and wrote captions 
and articles. But his most significant 
work in each of the books and that of 
which he is proudest are projects that 
involved twenty years of research. His 
"Historical Chart of Jazz Influences" 

was a bird's-eye view of the '44 issue, 
while the map of Storeyville, the orig- 
inal jazz stomping ground in New Or- 
leans, was offered in the following 
year's manual. For the most recent 
Jazz Book, he devised a map of Chi- 
cago jazz. To students of hot music 
history, the diagrams have been in- 
valuable aids, hitherto unavailable. 

Esquire's uncommon affection for jazz 
resulted in further expansion of its 
cultural promotion. In mid-1945 the 
magazine gave Miller and a renouned 
colleague, Leanard Feather, two full 
pages an issue for a regular depart- 
ment called "The Rhythm Section." 
The two quickly won an enthusiastic, 
wide-spread audience. Splitting vari- 
ous assignments. Miller and Feather 
were allowed a free hand and became 
responsible for some of the most learned 
dissertations in jazz criticism. Unfor- 
tuately, however, the celebrated de- 
partment locked shop after the Febru- 
ary, 1946, issue. An Esquire reorgan- 
ization sent Editor Arnold Gingrich to 
Switzerland as European Editor, and 
the editing job was taken over by the 
magazine publisher, David Smart, who 
had little enthusiasm for hot music. 
He dropped the "Rhythm Section," and 
Miller was jobless as far as Esquire 
was concerned. For the past several 
months. Miller's attention has been on 
his own jazz manual. An up-to-date, 
enlarged edition of the "Miller Year- 
book of Jazz," it will be completed and 
printed this year, he hopes. More of 
an encyclopedia than the original book, 
the 1947 version is scheduled to contain 
additional history, biography, technical 

4. W, Zengeler Co. 

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Copying - Enlarging 

Evanston Photographic 

1854 Sherman Gre. 8871 

F EBR VARY, 1947 

Page 31 


"7/76 choice of all desserts" 

Shirley ^IcCarthy Tri Delt 
and Bill Cuthbertson, Phi 
Kappa Psi, relax after class- 
es at Hill Drug Store . . . 
headquarters for cosmetics 
and all pharmaceutical sup- 

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information, and record listings. 

An extensive, varied library is Mil- 
ler's source for the philosophic and 
aesthetic standards which he applies to 
jazz. He has a comprehensive record 
collection of hundreds of waxings oi 
good and bad jazz in all classifications, 
the most prized of which are a number 
of private recordings not available to 
the public. 

Insofar as records go. Miller is em- 
phatic about a couple of things. He 
says, "There ought to be a lot more 
listening to records and a lot less dis- 
cussion about them. Regardless of 
whether you like one or not, you ought 
to recognize and agree upon a good, 
vigorous performance — or one that's 

Miller has formulated a broad list 
of recordings that are among his favor- 
ites. While the selection is a random 
one, he finds little of contemporary 
nature with which to compare them. 

"Old Miss" — Becht — Mezzrow sextet 
(West Coast label). 

"Creole Lullaby"— Carnival Three: 
Omer Simeon, clarinet; Pops Foster, 
bass: J. P. Johnson, piano (disc). 

"Dear Old Southland" — Sidney 
Becht's quartet (Blue Note). 

"St. James Infirmary" — Artie Shaw 

■'Memphis Blues" — Muggsj' Spanier 

"Ko-Ko"— Duke Ellington (Victor). 

"Workingman Blues'' — Lu Watters 
(West Coast). 


"If you have lost a skirt — inquire at 
The Book Nook, 1724 Orrington, Gre. 

— University Hall bulletin board 

Of all places to look, if 

Your cheinise is gone from the hook, 

And you dasn't suspect the cook, 

(Size 42) . . . We hasten to add, 

(Advertisers please don't get mad) 

That stray skirts are lost at 

The Book Nook. 

And if your dirndle is gone, by heaven. 
Do not hesitate to call Gre. 0-2-2-7 
(They may have it.) As for men's 

And sundry unmentionables, let's be 

Boys, and tidy-up. try to be neat, 
You may find them 'neath the Ford's 

rear seat. 
If not. call Greenleaf 0-2-2-7. 

— B. B. E. 





Here comes Spring 

with the greatest of all 

sports parades. Don't 

get caught in the 

equipment shortage . . . 

come in today for golf. 

tennis, baseball, etc. supplies. 

The North Shore's 

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Official photographer for 
Northwestern University 

1606 Chicago Ave. Uni. 2238 

Life and Movies 

(From page 14) 

is the hero. And can he take it! In 
seventy-four minutes of mystification, 
the theater-goer sees the hero black- 
jacked at least three times, shot at 
continually and hit occasionally, run 
over, thrown in the bay for dead, shot 
full of dope, and engaged in a knock 
down, drag out affair with some Nean- 
derthal character whose back he event- 
ually breaks. From all this he emerges 
with a smudge on his lapel and five- 
o'clock shadow. Until forty seconds 
before the ending, no one knows who 
did what or why, if the hero will clear 
himself, if the heroine will get her scoop 
to the Gazette in time, or what. No 
more does one patron nudge another 
and say with certainty, "The butler 
done it." Incidentally, the present de- 
plorable lack of cooperation between 
the citizens and the police force is due 
entirely to the movies. In them, the 
police never solve anything. 

Today's musicals are hardly worth 
the mention. They all fit into the tried 
and true, well known pattern. Hero 
wins song writing contest. Quits jerk- 
ing sodas. Wants to go to big city and 
become big success. Scene with small 
eared, big busted girl friend. Music 
from trees. Next scene. Hero starves 
to death playing piano in Bowery dive. 
Enter old girl friend, a huge success 
as Broadway singer. Love scene. More 
music from trees. No trees. She ar- 
ranges audition. He is success. They 
marry. More success. War is declared. 
Hero enlists. Tearful farewell. Whole 
damn boatful of smiling soldiers happy 
to go. all singing eight-part harmony. 
The Front Lines. Hero chokes on Red 
Cross do-nut. In hospital nineteen 
months. Armistice. Goes home. Wife 
toast of Broadway. He's unknown. Can't 
click. Much pride. Seperation. He sells 
neckties. She buys minks. Both un- 
happy. Ten years later. Hero swallows 
pride. People not buying neckties. 
Heroine getting old. Third party tells 
them they're going to have triplets. 
Happy reunion. Love scene. Full or- 
chestration from trees. Kiss. Curtain. 

The only possible variations to this 
theme are different locations, songs or 
wars. Once in a while some ingenious 
script writer makes the heroine a sis- 
ter act or the hero a three-man act. 
Otherwise the plot remains true to 
form. The moviegoer sits back during 
the showing and relaxes. He knows 
that the songs will be a success, at least 
(Co7itinued on page 39) 


. . . whenever you appear in your 

new light-weight suit from 


712 Church St. 


• Purse Repair 

• Luggage Repair 

• Zipper Repair 

• Shoes repaired 
and cleaned 


• Tintings 

1710 Sherman Gre 6477 


Pase 3 3 


(From page 15) 

copy of the Mobilgas magazine, which, 
since we belong to a fellow-magazine, 
cost us only fifty cents, we must confess 
that we were somewhat nonplussed: 

After a somewhat puzzling foreword, 
where a number of quotations seemed 
to be interjected in the wrong place, 
we came to the table of contents, which, 
except for the information that this was 
the "Don Geiger"' edition, puzzled us 
even further. We quickly turned to the 
first poem: it was one of William 
Shakespeare's sonnets. 

"EgadI" we cried. "Is he on their 
staff too? Or is that just one of Geiger's 
pen-names?" We never did find out, 
because we got lost somewhere in the 
maze of scrawled horses and toga-clad 
inaidens drawn promiscuously all over 
the page. 

We turned to the first story and im- 
mersed ourself in a profound Socratic 

"O.K. Ray — you won't tell — about 
this afternoon — will you?" 




"Cross vour heart?" 

"Cross my heart." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Sui'e I'm sure." 

We weren't so sure. We read on. 
Another short-story, this time a fairy- 
tale. And on, and on, through poems 
by Edward Arlington Robinson, Robin- 
son Jeffers, Jefferson Walters, and Walt 
Whitman, to say nothing of one Don 
Geiger. Oh, well — this isn't so bad — 
wonder if that 1926 National Geogra- 
phic will still be on my dentist's table 
when I finish this — until, suddenly — 
" 'Hip kaniniky, hop kasiyiiky 
Boovi, a-lay-ala aloochi.' " 

We arose quietly and calmly and 
composedly, shook the seeds out of our 
lapels, and walked over to a girl 
crouching in a corner of Scott hall 
selling the magazines. "We'd like our 
money back, Taboochi," we said deter- 
minedly, our eyes flashing a brilliant 

"O.K.," she said. "You won't tell — 
about this — will you?" 




"Cross your heart?" 

"Cross my heart." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Sure I'm sure." 

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She stopped to turn the page. We 
quickly reached out, grabbed a half- 
dollar, and ran down the corridor, 
laughing madly. 

The great solid peace had settled. We 
strode down to the basement of Harris 
hall, our muttered words keeping time 
with our footsteps: "With a boomlay, 
boomlay, boomlay, boochi. ..." 


We are really happy to note that 
Daily and WEAW sports editor Mc- 
Laughlin is finally taking beginning 
Reporting class. Now, if the rest of the 
staff would take Remedial Reading AA- 
1, our paper would be a real threat to 
Sears & Roebuck's catalogue. 

Good boy, Dick. Give 'em hell, man! 


After nearly four years of bewildered 
pondering, we have finally discovered 
what a full professor is full of. 


Losing both incisors in Cooley's mys- 
teriously concrete filet mignon, we 
lisped out a weak complaint to a re- 
markably unconcerned waitress. "I'm 
sorry, sir," she told us sweetly, "the 
food isn't too good today — they're 
painting in the basement." 


So trailing Army, Rockne told his 
boys these dying words from the 

— The Chicago Sun 

Nu? Maijhe at Notre Dame Marshall 
Goldberg you are expecting? 

^ J 

Best remedy for ? 

colds -CX 14 I 

^ Hoos Drug Store 


t loriliwcdrcni 

l§itudeot CO-OP 

1 726 Orrington Gre 2600 

Page 3 4 



(From page 16) 
cial Agencies, U. S. Social Security, 
U. S. Employment Service and the 
Evanston Health Department. 

Although there are other Chicago- 
area FM stations — WDLM. WGNB, 
WBBM-FM, WEFM, WEHS. to name a 
few — WEAW is the only one which is 
specifically dedicated to service daily 
newspaperless Evanston and the North 
Shore. It is also the only privately 
owned Chicago-area FM station, and 
the only one to begin a full time sched- 
ule since the war's end. At present, 
the station operates from three to ten 
p.m., Monday through Friday; noon to 
ten p.m., Saturday, and ten a.m. to ten 
p.m., Sunday. WEAW-FM's effective 
radiated power is 1.000 watts, and it 
operates on the 104.3 megacycle band. 


(From page 25) 
of the general officers, the past presi- 
dents, the state presidents, general sec- 
retaries of the Youth Temperance 
Council and the Loyal Temperance Le- 
gion, the board of department directors, 
the board of field secretaries, and the 
managing editors of The Union Signal 
and The Young Criisader. 

Besides the national-state hierarchy, 
the W.C.T.U. is divided into branches, 
bureaus, and departments. The branch- 
es include the Youth Temperance 
Council for teen-agers and college 
students, and the Loyal Temperance 
Legion for young boys and girls. Ac- 
cording to Miss Matheson there is even 
a branch for babies; that is, for moth- 
ers who wish to dedicate their new- 
born children to total abstinence. 

"We have a representative of our 
legislative bureau in Washington," Miss 
Matheson revealed, "and the state or- 
ganizations make themselves heard in 
the state capitols when opportunities 

"We will be especially interested in 
the forthcoming Capper bill seeking to 
ban liquor advertising," remarked the 
secretary. "Of course, we will back any 
bill or proposed amendment designed 
to bring back prohibition." 

Miss Matheson says: "The liquor 
manufacturers and dealers propagan- 
dized the people into believing that 
prohibition could not work." She did 
not touch upon whether passing a law 
could eliminate drinking while basic 
social maladjustments remain un- 


17 30 S h e r m a n A\^e n ii e 

Evanston, Illinois 


CX 12 for colds 

I Hoos Drug Store 

During the recent election, the local 
chapters of the W.C.T.U. were instru- 
mental in helping to get some of the 
Sixty-third street precincts in Chicago 
to vote dry. 

Temperance advocacy, however, is 
not confined to prohibition of alcoholic 
beverages. Miss Matheson pointed out. 
She emphasized also that the organiza- 
tion is concerned with more than tem- 

"We want abstinence from all nar- 
cotics and drugs, including tobacco. 
But we are especially interested in the 
instruction of boys and girls in clean 
and healthful living. Our goal is the 
achievement of a moral Christian so- 

Indeed, included in one of the official 
booklets are statements favoring ex- 
tension of the civil service, internation- 
al cooperation, uniformity in marriage 
and divorce laws, and comprehensive 
(Co7itinued on page 38) 

You will feel like 

a million 

While dining and 
dancing at 


Rendezvous ' 

Skokie 2404 






for all 



We deliver 

and telegraph 

Central Florists 

2216 Central 

I ni. 8420 

God and The Coal Cellar 

Get knittin', kitten 

♦ Argyles 

♦ Knitting bags 

♦ Yarn 

♦ Sweaters cleaned 
and blocked 

♦ Slip-ons cut 


1718 Sherman 


8 7 

By Robert ] a go da 

W SHALL NEVER FORGET an event that 
was contemporaneous with the stock 
market crash of '29. While the 
bottom was dropping out of Wall 
Street, international trade was coming 
to a halt, and the major world powers 
were abandoning the gold standard, 
I was busily engaged in undressing a 
little girl under her back porch steps. 
Unaware of the calamity of '29, I, at 
the age of seven, had told Dorothy 
Ecke that she looked awfully ill, and 
that I was a doctor. 

I distinctly remember telling grand- 
ma about my experience. She was 
shocked. She sent me to bed without 
supper. She consulted grandpa. She 
came into the bedroom with a bowl 
of warm soup and a worried frown 
on her face. 

''God will punish you, Bobby," she 
said. "If you ever undress Dorothy 
again, I'll put you in the coal cellar for 
five years!" 

Grandma's loss of a few thousand 
dollars had influenced her concept of 
child discipline, and I was left to await 
the just wrath of God, and to avoid the 
little girl. 

I ran to a far-away playground, 
knowing that the little girl's mother 
wouldn't let her cross a street, or leave 
our block. I found many new play- 

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i 16 Main 


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mates, and almost forgot the magnitude 
of God and the threat of the coal cellar. 
Unfortunately, my new friends had 
opened the neighborhood marble tour- 
nament. With the tournament came the 
terrible swear words that young men 
learn from their parents. Every time 
a last marble was at stake, its owner 
would curse, "goddamit, you missed 
my blue agate by a mile." 

I could not bear the repeated allusion 
to our deity; every reference to Him 
reminded me of my unforgivable crime. 
"God will punish me," I thought, and 
stayed away from the playground. I 
sincerely wanted to become a doctor — 
in fact, I wanted to become almost any- 
thing that would show God I was 

As an excuse for keeping me indoors, 
away from Dorothy, I began breeding 
grasshoppers in grandma's Mason jars. 
I soon accumulated a vast collection of 
bugs from oui- garden, and experi- 
mented with them in the attic of our old 
frame house. Grandma found me out. 
She made me stay outdoors, where I 
was again at the mercy of the little 

I remember Dorothy well. She was 
very pretty; she wore her long, blonde 
hair in braids — with pink ribbons at- 
tached. Her eyes were sparkling blue, 
and she had a charming, unaffected 

Dorothy wanted me for her beau; 
she was bored with the general run of 
neighborhood pastimes. When, fearing 
the coal cellar, I ran from her, she 
would chase me, shouting, "Docta, 
docta!" She invariably rang our back 
door bell, on tip-toes, not knowing that 
I had concealed myself under the porch 
steps. Finally, after manj' attempts to 
seek out my companionship, she told 
her mother that I refused to play with 

Mrs. Ecke paid a visit to my grand- 

"Your grandson won't play with my 
Dorothy, Mrs. Talman," she said, "and 
I think it's rather mean of him. Doro- 
thy is a nice child, even if she is 
highly excitable. Will you please ask 
Bobby to play with her? I'll buy them 
some cand_v and ice-cream." 

Grandma spoke with me. She had 
obviously forgotten her threat to send 
(Continued on page 3S) 








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135 colleges ami uiiirersitips 

Mothers and 

By Harriette Rhawn 


time. It's warm in the kitchen. Be- 
sides, I can talk to the linoleum there. 

I wash egg stains off breakfast dishes 
and watch the other girls go to school. 

Daddy used to teach me. He's gone 
now. He's been gone an awfully long 
time now. We have ten boarders and 
I have to help Mother. I stay in the 
kitchen most of the time. That way I 
don't have to smile. The pock marks 
are more noticeable when I smile. 

Daddy'd been gone five years to the 
day when Sally came to live with us. 
I remember because it was my twelfth 
birthday, and Mother said I could pick 
tulips in the back yard if I got the walls 
washed down by eight. 

I finished the ironing and started on 
the walls. I remember it plain. I liked 
the back yard. The tulips were my 
childi-en and we played games to- 
gether. It's very friendly and dark in 
our back yard. 

It was almost eight o'clock when the 
door bell rang. She doesn't let me an- 
swer the door, so I opened the kitchen 
door a crack. Mother saw me, and 
made a frown face. She looks at me 
that way a lot. Like she didn't feel so 
good and seeing me made it worse. 

Stay well . . . Feel swell \ 
For colds... CXI 2 -CXI 4 | 

Hoos Drug Store j 


^h e ^n 

Now in the 
North Shore Hotel 

. . . extends a cordial invitation to 
inspect their new quarters. Evanston's 
most modern barher shop ... 5 chair 
service. Finest type of barbering. Stu- 
dents find an appointment a time sav- 
ing convenience. 

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CREenleaf 9009 

She frowned, and then answered the 

I heard her gasp, and saw her bend 
over. She looks funny when she bends 
over, like two mountains. I wanted to 
kick her. 

But in a second she came into the 
living room with a baby girl. It was 
screaming, but Mother made funny, 
soft noises at it, and took it on her lap. 
Pretty soon it went to sleep. 

That's how Sally came to live with 
us. She just came and stayed. 

Mother made out like she didn't 
know where the baby came from. She 
examined her clothes . . . just like she 
hadn't known about it all the time. I 
knew Mother had ordered it from the 
market. It came in a grocery basket. 

"I must tell the police about this to- 
morrow," she said. I knew she wouldn't. 
She was trying to fool me. I knew right 
then that Sally would be my new 

I stood in the kitchen door and 
watched. I guess I forgot about my 
bhthday and the tulips. 

Mother's eyes looked all different 
when she rocked Sally in her arms. 

"She's such an adorable little thing." 
she whispered softly. "Such a pretty 
child. Let's call her Sally, Uttle SaUy 
sunshine." Then she leaned over and 
kissed her. I saw her. 

Next morning I was awakened by a 
high tinkling laugh. Mother was laugh- 
ing, too. I came into the kitchen from 
my room behind the pantry ... I 
thought something was wrong. Mother 
doesn't laugh much. 

There in my old high chair sat the 
baby. Mother was giving her a bottle 
of milk. Sally had blonde curly hair, 
and blue eyes . . . like our gentians, 
only lighter, and more like blue sparkle. 

And Mother . . . why, she looked so 
different. Her face was clean and her 
eyes so kind. She said new things, like 
"angel" and "precious." 

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1016 Central St., Evanston, III. 
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We got along all right after the baty 
came cause I did most of the cooking. 
Mother was with Sally all the time. 

I was to be her "big sister," and 
prepared the dainty white trays for the 
little table that Mother had painted 
white, washed pastel smocks, and 
polished white shoes. Months and 
months went on like this. 

Mother did the bathing, the story- 
telling, and the loving. Sally even had 
a birthday party, with candles on her 
cake . . . two shiny candles. I could 
hear them laughing at the party from 
the kitchen. 

They were always laughing, Sally 
and Mother. I wouldn't have minded 
so much if I hadn't heard the laughing 
... all the time . . . 

I couldn't talk to the linoleum be- 
cause it wouldn't answer me any- 
more. And when summer came again 
and the tulips bloomed, I didn't have 
time to even touch them. There was 
always so much to do . . . and even after 
diapers, there was so much to do. 

Sally used to cry when I came near 
her. Mother usually kept me away. 
She said I scared the baby. 

But when she was three. Sally was 
no longer afraid of me. She would 
throw her toys across the room, then 
say "Doll!" . . . and Mother would 
make me pick it up and bring it back 
to her. 

Sally was willing to go with me. one 
day when I got her up from her nap 
while Mother was at the store. I told 
her I wanted to show her a secret place 
in the woods. I knew where the hired 
man kept the hatchet. 

She screamed like a stuck pig. 

I went home and picked some tulips. 



(From page 36) 
me to the coal cellar, (or she was 
induced by the offer of ice-cream), 
for she said, "If you don't play with 
Dorothy. God will punish you." 

I played with Dorothy. I defined the 
limits of our friendship, and told her 
about God. Dorothy wasn't content 
with my explanations, if she under- 
stood them at all. 

She abandoned our games of ball- 
and-jacks and hide-and-go-seek, and 
pretended to be sick. She repeatedly 
mentioned the word. Doctor, and had 
tantrums when I hid from her. I was 
extremely miserable for the entire 
afternoon, until Dorothy disappeared. 
Then, when I didn't see her on the 

Campus Pharmacy 

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following morning. I worried about the 
possibility of a future visit from Mrs. 

Neither appeared at our house. I 
began to think that both had been 
punished by God. and I was happy. I 
celebrated my new found happiness in 
a profitable game of marbles at the 
far-away playground. On returning 
home with my winnings. Dorothy con- 
fi-onted me in the yard. 

She was smiling. "Me nurse." she 
said. She undressed me on the back 
porch — I wondering if a nurse, too. was 
in the province of the Almighty. 


(From page 35) 
federal child-labor legislation. The or- 
ganization is opposed to peacetime mil- 
itary training. 

In their hustle and bustle, the women 
have not forgotten the second letter in 
W.C.T.U. On the day of the interview, 
preparing to leave, I saw the switch- 
board operator on the main floor of the 
administration building walk up to a 
string of suspended Oriental gongs, and 
whack them five times in descending 
order. They sounded like the tone 
beats on the old Farm and Home hour. 

Miss Matheson e.xplained that this 
ceremony heralded the daily prayer 
period when all members pray for the 
abolition of the liquor traffic. 

"We pray at noon the world over." 
she said. 

When I glanced at a nearby clock 
which read 11:40. she apologized: "We 
eat an early lunch here." 

Miss Matheson and her associates 
throughout the world are intent upon 
making real, through their interpreta- 
tion, the conviction of Miss Willard: 
"To help forward the coming of Christ 
in all departments of life is. in its last 
analysis, the purpose and aim of the 

(/Jennett 1 1 lusic ^lioi) 

Everything in music 

1148 Central Ave. 
Wilmette. 111. 

WiL 568 

Page 3 8 



909 Maple Ave. 


GRE. 1155 

Repairs, rentals, bought, 
sold, traded. . . 


e remodel and 
make coats 

e clean and 
store furs 

Labich Furs 

Fred C. Labich 
R. P. Bartcl 

1717 Sherman 

Gre. 2882 

Hurrv! Hurrv! 





Northwestern Sweat Shirts 
onlv $1.95 

\^ e have just received a 
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and Wildcat design. 

Don't wait; get yours 
now. If you can't get in, 
call us and we'll deliver 
at once. 

1731-33 Sherman Ave. 
Evanston Gre. 4604 

Life and Movies 

(From page 33) 

in the movie, that they will eventually 
reunite, and that everything will turn 
out happily in the end. 

There are types of movies other than 
Westerns, mysteries and musicals. Once 
or twice a year, a producer will stum- 
ble on a new idea. If it flops, it is 
forgotten. If it's a success, all the other 
studios steal the idea. Lately, there's 
been an epidemic of twin sister plots. 
It's just about milked dry, so I imagine 
that a twin brother cinema will hit the 
screen soon. 

Leo McCary hit the jack-pot on mov- 
ies with a religious theme. He began 
with "Song of Bernadette." then "Going 
My Way," and "Bells of St. Mary" . . . 
and last year paid more income tax 
than anyone else in the U. S. His most 
recent and inost unusual idea came 
recently. He's going to film the story 
of "Adam and Eve." I predict that he 
will have trouble not only with the 
censors but even before that. Casting 
the two major parts will be extremely 
difficult because at present all the Hol- 
lywood greats have navels. 

Today's housewife is no longer inter- 
ested in the goings on of her neighbors. 
She can get more dirt with less strain 
by reading the latest Hollywood gossip 
column. As soon as hubby takes off for 
the 8:15 and the kids are shooed off to 
school, she curls up with a box of bon- 
bons and the latest copy of "Screen 
Screams." Movies are pi'obably more 
responsible for breaking up families in 
the last ten years than all the whiskey, 
traveling salesmen and blond secre- 
taries in the last fifty. Husbands just 
don't act masterful like Gregory, and 
wives never look like Lana esnecially 
across the breakfast table. Incidentally, 
the modern school boy is far more in- 
terested in the adventures of the movie 
hero off the screen than on. 

Movies too have caused a warping in 
the chronological lives of women. Due 
to their influence, its takes a female 
thirty years to get fi-om ninteen to 
twenty. At fourteen she tries to look 
like twenty and continues in that en- 
deavor till she gives up at forty-four. 

I can't understand why people, in- 
cluding myself, go to picture shows. I 
guess it's because of that overwhelming 
feeling one gets when emerging from 
the corner Bijou. "How simple and un- 
complicated life really is compared to 
the movies.'' 

^«2^ L^fma^x^r^ 


Expressing in every detail the 
classic beauty identified with the 
last century. The fine depth of 
design attains new heights of 


707 Church St. 
Greenleaf 2450 

Throughout Ch'nagoland 
Daily Deliveries 

FEBRUARY. 19 47 


The Parrot Stand 


might call an omnibus 
klead. It seeks to intro- 
'duce you to a series of 
short editorial queries, 
statements of policy and 
''stands" set forth here for the edifica- 
tion of those who do not take the 
trouble to probe beneath the sur'ace 
of the froth, churned-up, for the most 
part, by subsidiaries of Mr. Joe W. 
Miller's Student Affairs office. 


After examining ourselves in the 
light of Daily Northwestern criticism — 
on the whole very laudatory and, 
hence, accurate — we find that people 
are still confusing this magazine with 
Judge, Captain Billy's Whizz-Bang and 
The Harvard Lampoon, with a funda- 
mental (sic!) shot of The Kenyan Re- 
view. To these people, we point to our 
logo-underline: Northwestern Univer- 
sity's Magazine of Collegiate Life. To 
these people we say: The Purple Parrot 
is not primarily a humor magazine, 
because Northwestern students are not 
primarily humorous persons. They are 
upon occasion ridiculous, complex, 
"cute," confused, pathetic, immature, 
idealistic, intellectually naive, brilliant 
and, not very often, whimsical. The 
Piirple Parrot, as indicated by its name, 
is an organ which serves as a tongue- 
in-cheek recorder of the activities of 
this kaleidoscopic collegiate life. So, 
please don't criticize us for not being 
funny — it's only because you're not. 


As long as Mortar Board, Pan-Hel 
and the faculty have dedicated them- 
selves to discussion of the question, this 
student publication would like to slip 
a paragraph in edgewise. 

The Picrple Parrot recommends the 
abolishment of all formal examina- 
tions (of the present type) in favor of 

term projects or theses, except in cer- 
tain courses of study where the nature 
of the subject matter makes it im- 

We've always felt that it's more 
important to appreciate the implica- 
tions of information, and to know 
where to find supporting information 
for these implications, than it is to 
develop a facile rote memory. We real- 
ize this is a rather post-graduate, ma- 
ture approach to the problem of exam- 
inations, and we wouldn't be annoying 
you with it if we believed in the prac- 
ticability of the honor system and a 
faculty urge to construct questions for 
that system. But, you can't get every- 
one to scrap yellowed lesson plans and 
palaeozoic examination questions with- 
in a quarter's time. 

Personally, we're able to draw con- 
clusions of some import from the lec- 
tui-es we attend and the reading we are 
required to digest. We are doubtful, 
however, of the advantages of com- 
mitting to memory the vessels of this 
information. It irritates us to think our 
academic standing is, for the most part, 
based on the ability to return a carbon 
copy of our instructors' lecture notes, 
complete with bibliography, at the end 
of each quarter. 

The time most of us dedicate to mem- 
orizing a series of "facts" in prepara- 
tion for the tri-annual inquisition 
seems almost empty in comparison to 
the same amount of time, if spent in 
investigating the implications of our 
notes, and in drawing conclusions from 
the results of these investigations. 

Whenever we take a "final," we're 
never quite able to resist the 
idea that it seems pretty foolish 
for college students to be tested 
in the same manner, and with 
the same form of questioning, 
as grammar school students. 
Of course, this does make it 
easier for some of us. 


The Parrot has been taking 
friendly jabs at The Daily 
Northioestern since its birth- 
day, twenty-six years ago. 
We've seen that publication, 
which is so much a part of the 
life of Northwestern, during its 
polished, professional days 
under Jim Ward, during its 
struggling, w a r-t i m e days 

under hard-working young women and. 
now, as it valiantly makes its way back 
to prewar stature. The Daily still has 
a whopping bagful of short- comings, 
but they're all certainly not to be at- 
tributed to its ambitious staff. 

For one thing, the Daily North- 
western, which may roll-up an all- 
time profit high this year because of its 
dynamic business staff and the careful 
guardianship of the Board of Pubhca- 
tions, is published a good long bus ride 
from here, in Des Plaines. We've 
worked on both the editorial and busi- 
ness staff of the Daily, and know that 
this place of publication is one of the 
primary drawbacks. Long-distance 
supervision of the Parrot — with is an 
accumulation of printed matter from 
New York, Milwaukee, Chicago and 
Evanston — is plausible, with monthly 
deadlines. For the Daily, however, un- 
less editorial and business executives 
can be in regular, close contact with the 
stuff which makes up the newspaper — 
engravings, type, dummy sheets, late 
copy, etc. — the paper is bound to come 
up with a few ridiculous mistakes. 

We can't forgive B.J. for running a 
picture in a Friday paper of two per- 
sons listening to a football game which 
will be played the following Saturday, 
nor to attributing the new bulk of her 
newspaper to the graces of the publica- 
tions board rather than to the adver- 
tising linage record rolled up by her 
business staff. We can, however, be 
sympathetic about those typographical 
errors and those occasional bad exhibi- 
tions of news judgment — If Miss Clin- 
ton and Miss Park were allowed to drop 
their routine journalism course 
of studies in favor of full-time 
work on the Daily, with full- 
time credit for this work, then 
we'd jump on every trite mon- 
ster story and inaccurate re- 
porting of SGB deliberations 
displayed. We're not so sure 
that such a set-up. with pub- 
lications executives receiving 
credit for their newspaper 
"a c t i v i t y," wouldn't benefit 
campus publications and the 
individuals as well. 

-^Ae eJlicn 

Page 4 


We stopped at a 
lot of places but 
these are the ones 
we'll be going bac\ 
to. We present, 
with our sugges- 
tions .... 


with Jeann Ronningen 

and Walt Kemp 

RICCARDO'S, 437 Rush 
Street, food in the Itahan 
manner. Music by the inex- 
haustible repertoire of "Ric" 
and the Troubadors. Our sug- 

gestion — L 

ong, long Italian 

spaghetti with grated Parme- 
sian cheese. 

Anytime is right to meet your 
friends at COOLEY'S CUP- 
BOARDS . . . Delicious lunch- 
eons and dinners . . . snacks 
for tea or late evening sup- 
pers. Our suggestion — toasted 
caramel roll with gobs of 

Where to . . . But RICKETT'S RESTAURANT at 

the water tower, open all night . . . ''Where the 
Celebrities Go.'' Sensible prices. Our suggestion 
— tender red broiled - live lobster. 

For jive, to the SILHOU- 
ETTE, 1555 Howard Street. 
The "Five Steps of Jive" will 
make your feet really step. 
Our suggestion — 
good old fashioned 

Daytime, night-time, anvtime 
. . . it's SALLYS ON THE 
SKOKIE. open all night. The 
right place for all occasions. 
Our suggestion — golden waf- 
fles melting under maple syrup 
and plenty of butter. 







Copyright 19I". Lioctrr & Mvers Tobacco Co.